In Faith Of Tomorrow
by Mage of the Heart
Summary: Godric Gryffindor is thrown into the future, to the time of Voldemort, his former best friends descendant. With the help of Hermione Granger, can he settle his inner feud? And will he find love in a time not meant for him? M for later chapters
1. Ironic Fear

**I dont own any of the Harry Potter characters**

**Godric/Hermione. **

**There's no harm in something different... well.. once in a while.**

**So here it is:**

**In Faith Of Tomorrow**

**(This is going to be SO uncompliant its stupid)**

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The raven-haired man sat crouched over the hearth fire, listening to the gentle crackle of burning logs, watching as the flames grew and flickered around the wood, turning the brown bark black, crumbling into dust at the floor of the grate. His brown eyes glinted in the fiery light, watering as the heat dried his eyes, tear ducts working overly to compensate it. He felt nothing. No heat scalded his skin, and no pain touched his eyes. The real pain lay in his heart, covered by layer upon layer of finest silken cloaks. Red fabric, trimmed with gold, cloaked his body, the rich colours taunting him, laughing at his misfortune. As he crouched, his red heart ached, pounding out a furious rhythm, of anger, of vengeance, of heartbreak. The sound of students, his pupils, his charges, laughing on the floor above him, in the room which he had chosen for its view of the grounds. Eagle-eye, he had once called it, overlooking every corner of the grounds, each student a guardian of their fellows. And then too, the bravery of each of his charges to look down on such a vastly distant ground. How many were scared of heights? None that he had picked. No student in the house of Gryffindor would ever be afraid of the height of their home. Bravery of the lion, and loyalty of the eagle. He prided his students on those qualities and yet... he was lacking in both, as of the last moon. What good was a host of bright, intelligent, brave students, willing to do his bidding, to learn from his example, when there was nobody to help him teach them? His fellow founders had left him, either out of disloyalty or through death itself, and he was the only one left.

Loyalty? How could he remain loyal to his students, teach them all that they needed to know, and remain loyal to their needs as their teacher, when loyalty was such a lacking quality even amongst the closest of friends?

Bravery? How brave would he have to be to embrace the loss of three friends within the space of ten years, all so young, all so talented, and then teach others what they had longed to teach themselves?

Where, in his Gryffindor heart, would he rediscover the love and devotion that he had held for his students and friends, less than thirty sundowns past?

Salazars loss had scarred him - the abandonment of such a close friend wrought pain and discord amongst the remaining three founders, and Helga and Rowena had seemed to move further from his as the days passed. Yet still they remained, teaching their students, as he had. Niether ones commitment ever faltered, and both birthed children to their husbands, whilst still teaching. He had never married, nor sired any young, and had in fact spent most of his time when he was not teaching, brooding in his own quarters, attempting fruitlessly to forget his former best friend. He had thought, for a time, that he had succeeded. Indeed, he had gone several weeks without once considering Salazar's whereabouts, yet then, both Rowena and Helga had fallen ill, and within a week, Helga had passed away, Rowena was rapidly deteriorating, and Godric Gryffindor found himself searching the castle in vain for the Chamber that had been rumoured to be Salazar's. He had never found it, yet he remained certain of its existence, positive that there was no way he could have left the castle undetected. He had searched hopelessly, yet after two weeks, when Rowena too passed away, he was forced to accept his friends betrayal, truly, for the first time. It was that morning, as his final friend had died, that he had felt the utter, burning hatred towards Salazar, a hatred he had never before given way to, overcome him. He had spent the afternoon throwing violent bellows at anyone who approached him, feeling the hopeless loss that came with the death of a friend. And now... now as he sat in his quarters, gazing into the dying flames of the fire, feeling its warmth ebb away, as though its life were being stolen from it, he felt the cold, clammy hand of death beckoning him, calling to him. He had attempted several times to ignore it already, yet the need for quiet, for the calm, serenity of silent death, was overwhelming. Gathering his silken cloak around him, he reached for his wand, placing it in his pocket, and leaving the room, just as the last flames flickered and died.

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The top of Gryffindor tower was flat, a circle of brick surrounded by a two-foot high wall. Nobody but he himself had ever ventured up here. It was his own, private reflection spot, his happy-place, as his friends had so teasingly called it. The students were forbidden it, and his friends did not feel the necessity - indeed, Salazar had refused to come, the only time that Godric had ever offered anyone but he to come. Looking back, vicious thoughts of how Salazar had always wanted to be close to the ground, like the writhing serpent he really was, overcame him, and Godric had to blink several times to dispell them.

There was nothing on this tower beside a small plant pot, filled with the flower that all four founders had named the school after. The Hogwarts lily. How simple it was. Oh yes, they were showy, large flowers, yet something about the simplistic petals had always helped to erase his troubles. Something in its scent had always calmed him, resting his fury or his anger, returning him to his peaceful state of mind. Now, he did not lift the plant to his nose, or even caress the petals as once he would have done. Instead, he plucked a single flower from the pot, holding it in his left hand, and drawing his wand with his right, before stepping onto the wall that surrounded him. His legs shook, and his knees went weak as his eyes focused dimly on the dark mass of forest that he could just make out.

Ironic, he mused, that he should choose this tower for the bravery of his students, and yet be scared of the height himself. It was not the death that scared him. It was the welfare or otherwise of his students. There was certain to be a leader amongst them, willing to see them home. He trusted in that. The night wind brushed in his face and for a brief moment, he closed his eyes to the comfort of its cold caress. As he stepped forward, anger still surging in his chest, his only regret was that he could never look into Salazars eyes and tell him he had lost.

Darkness enveloped him, all sense of feeling abandoned his body, and there was nothing.

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**Oh I know, Gryffindors suicide. OOC? How'd you know?**

**So... short intro.**

**Can you imagine how out of place he's going to look in those silks:P**

**Let me know what you think.**

**Mage of the Heart**


	2. It Can't Be True

**I dont own any Harry Potter characters**

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There was little light remaining; indeed, the sun had descended behind the horizon several hours previously, leaving only the moon to lead the way through the grounds. In retrospect, the young lady could well have ignited her wand tip if she wished to have a clear path, but in previous experience, she had found that wrong-doers who had managed to remain outside the castle after the caretaker had locked the door, were too aware of any approaching light to allow themselves to be caught. Perhaps, if she had chosen to light her wand on her rounds, she might have noticed the figure at the base of Gryffindor Tower, and may not have yelped in shock at the loud, croaky groan that rose from what appeared, in the dim light, to be a mere heap of luxurious silk. When in fact the heap of clothing moved, a hand shooting from the cavernous sleeves to grasp the wandering Head Girls ankle, she could not help but emit a loud, piercing shriek, drawing her wand and pointing it at her assailant with a still hand, though her voice betrayed the gripping shock and horror that had overcome her.

"I... I'm warning you... let go... I have a wand and... I'm not... not afraid to... to use it..."

Another groan, and the hand on her ankle relinquished its grip, falling to the floor with a dull thud. A rough, gravelly voice sounded, as though the speaker had been outside for far too long a time. "Am I dead? Are you... the guardian?"

Hermione Granger blinked rapidly, in disbelief, then shook her head in the negative. Only on realizing that he could not see her did she speak up. "No... no you're not dead... you're perfectly alive... and I'm not any kind of guardian." She found herself edging forwards, despite inner warnings that told her she should run to McGonnagall and Dumbledore instantly.

"Where am I?" The man rasped, struggling to lift his weight up on his arms. They shook with the effort, straining muscles hollered at him, pleading for him to stop. He fell forwards, collapsing onto the cold, compact ground, a soft grunt of pain escaping his lips.

Dropping to her knees, Hermione turned the man over, biting back a whimper of shock at the congealing blood that clogged the dirt-filled cuts on his face. "You're at Hogwarts," she mumbled, brushing a dark lock of hair back from the slash located across his eyebrow.

"Hogwarts..." he deliberated in a soft undertone. "Hogwarts..." he was silent a moment, then; "why am I alive?"

Hermione faltered, swallowing a lump in her throat. "The... the same reason everyone else is I suppose." She pointing her wand at his wound, waving it soundlessly, the dirt vanishing and the red, bleeding gash healing, to become a simple red line. "Why would you not be?" Repeating the same spell on various inflictions, she awaited his answer, wondering who he was, and how he had come to be within Hogwarts grounds; he was no teacher, too old to be a student, and the wards that surrounded the school were practically inpenetrable. A brief doubt, a wondering of how Dark the wizard be in order to get here, passed through her mind, but she dispelled it. After all, if he were attempting to break into the castle unnoticed, he'd have killed her by now.

He waved a hand, a gasp of pain and effort escaping his mouth, as he tried to speak.

"Alright!" Hermione said hurriedly. "Don't say anything just... just let me get help... I'll be right back..." As she stood to leave, his hand caught her wrist and a shuddering, rasping breath reached her ears.

"No! Don't go... I don't... this place... I'm not... stay!"

Desperation and neediness clung to each syllable. Hermione shivered, then nodded, raising her wand and speaking "Expecto patronum!" Three silver otters shot from her wand, floundering towards the nearest windows and disappearing through them as though they were non-existant. Kneeling down, she surveyed the man through watchful eyes, her teeth indenting her lip lightly as she thought of something to say.

"Who... who are you?" She queried, looking at his dark, medium length hair, and the would-be handsome face, were it not covered in blood and dirt where she had not quite managed to clean it. She noted a slight scar on his neck, but she looked away from it and waited for him to reply.

He was shivering, teeth chattering, as he attempted to reply. "Go... G...G..."

"Miss Granger!" Professor Minerva McGonagall's shrill voice echoed through the cold night air, and he was prevented from answering her. The clipping sound of shoes on the concrete ground became louder, and suddenly, the tartan dressing gown and famously tightly bunned hair appeared suddenly, preceding the large, sparkling blue hat of Albus Dumbledore, who seemed as serene and calm as ever he was. "What on earth is going on?"

"Professor," Hermione breathed, her voice filled with relief. "I don't know who he is, and he says he doesn't know why he's here... he's got cuts and... well... I didn't know what else to do."

Perhaps it was the look of complete helplessness that covered the usually competent Head Girl's face that convinced the Head of Gryffindor house of the situation, but the harsh, shrill tone suddenly disbanded from the Professor's voice and she looked briefly at the man, before into Hermione's eyes. "Miss Granger, perhaps it would be best for you to go back to your common room..."

Hermione nodded, her brown hair blowing lightly in the wind. As she went to leave, Professor Dumbledore stepped forward, blue eyes twinkling as ever in the minimal light, fingertips touching as he surveyed her over his half-mooned spectacles. "Perhaps not, Professor. Indeed, I think it would be appropriate for Miss Granger to accompany us up to the Hospital Wing. She will, after all, require something for shock, and I'm sure our guest could do with the company."

The desire to argue was forced back. She knew full well that there would be no question as to whether she would visit the Hospital Wing if Professor Dumbledore himself had suggested it. Nodding her head in slight inclination, she waited for the Professors as they levitated the strange man from the floor. Only as he rose did she notice the flower that fell from his clothing, landing lightly on the floor with no sound. Without conscious thought, she knelt to pick it up, her brow creasing slightly as she wondered over the flowers origin. She had never seen such a flower before, and although she was no Herbologist or gardener, it was a rareity to find something she had never heard of. Following the puppeted figure and her two Professors, she ran her fingers over the stem of the lily absently, the plant refreshingly cool against her fingers. There was a strange silence as they walked up to the Hospital Wing, and Hermione toyed with the flower gently, caressing the soft petals and smelling it carefully. Although they reached the quiet, clean ward within minutes, it felt a much longer stretch of time as she watched her two Professors walking with their heads together, talking in hushed voices that resulted in her being unable to hear them. Occasionally, her eyes would drift to the figure of the strange man, held in an unearthly position as he floated along, and she would shudder involuntarily at his unexplained appearance, his apparent shock at being alive, and his worryingly endearing need for her company.

"Miss Granger!" Madame Pomfreys voice spoke up sharply, as though it were not the first time that she had called. "Come over here and let me check you over."

"Honestly Madame Pomfrey, I'm fine. I should really be on my rounds and..." she was silenced as the nurse steered her to a nearby bed, pushing a vial of potion forcefully into her spare hand.

"I shall be the one to decide that. Now you, be quiet and drink that potion. You won't be going anywhere this evening." She turned away, bustling over to the far side of the ward, where the stranger had been lain on a bed. Hermione watched as the nurse performed frantic healing and cleaning spells on areas of his body that Hermione had missed - his ankles, his knees, even his chest. A blush crept across the Head Girls cheeks as she wondered why the man's privacy was being so blatantly disregarded. All the while, her two Professors spoke quietly, glancing at the man warily. Only when Madame Pomfrey had finished and covered the man again, taking a heavy pile of colourful silks to her own quarters, where, Hermione assumed she would clean them, did Professor Dumbledore step forwards, his eyes carefully surveying the figure on the bed. His long blue robes glittered slightly in the vague candlelight, and his soft voice was lowered to be almost inaudible. Hermione attempted to strain her ears, without appearing to be eavesdropping, by leaning over to the jug of water on her bedside table, swinging her legs off the side of the bed and pouring herself a glass. After placing it gingerly on the table again, she unstoppered the potion vial and pinched her nose against the acrid smell. "1, 2, 3," she muttered, then threw it down her throat, swallowing instantly in an attempt to avoid the taste as much as was possible. She drank from the water glass greedily, attempting to rid her throat of the burning sensation. As she drank, the conversation between her Professor's and the stranger reached her ears, and she listened intently.

"I am very much aware of the healing you have just undergone. I shall ask only a few questions, and pray that you shall permit me the answers." Professor Dumbledore may have recieved a nod in assent, or a violent hand gesture, or no recognition at all. Hermione did not dare to look, but waited as the conversation drew on.

"Firstly, and perhaps most importantly, what is your name, and how do you explain your, frankly unexpected, arrival at my school?"

There was incoherent mumbling, and Professor McGonagall uttered an irritated 'tsk' sound, tapping her slippered foot on the cold floor.

After repeating the question, Dumbledore leant down nearer to the mans lips, then shook his head. "Minerva, perhaps you would be so kind as to ask Poppy for a strengthening solution for our guest?"

McGonagall nodded, walking briskly from the room. Although Hermione did not look at her remaining Professor, she was certain that he was watching her. As if to confirm her thoughts, the blue eyed, kindly old man said, quite gently, and quietly, considering the distance between them. "Perhaps, Miss Granger, it would be best for you to join us, and save both myself and our mysterious guest the trouble of speaking deliberately louder. And, of course, to save your young ears the strain that comes with eager listening." Hermione turned her head to look at her Headmaster, an ashamed flush covering her cheeks and turning her pink with embarassment.

"I'm sorry Professor. I'll leave if it's inconvenient."

His blue eyes twinkled with light amusement and he shook his head, his hair and beard moving briefly. "My dear girl, it is more than my life's worth to allow you to leave. Poppy would sooner have my head for supper than allow a student she has proclaimed to stay overnight leave her ever watchful presence." He indicated with a bony hand to the strange man, smiling at her. "Come. I'm sure our mysterious guest would appreciate the company."

Smiling in spite of herself, Hermione stood and walked over to the mans bed, holding her water glass in her hand and looking at the headmaster with a slight frown creasing her forehead. He continued to smile sweetly, and inclined his head politely, just as Professor McGonnagall returned, a purple vial clasped between her slender fingers. At a nod from Dumbledore, she proceeded forwards, placing the bottle to the mans lips and tipping it gently. He swallowed it down, and Hermione found it of slight interest that he were so trusting of a woman he had never met to give him a potion. Nevertheless, she seated herself on the nearest spare bed, watching as Dumbledore ran his long fingers over the bottom rails of the hospital bed, the same smile still covering the serene, calmly wisened old face, with no hint of worry or unease.

"Now, perhaps you will permit me the knowledge of how you came to be in the grounds of my school?"

The man stared at Dumbledore, as though it were an absurd question, and said, quite softly. "I jumped."

Hermione's eyebrows jumped up her forehead. McGonnagall stared, flabbergasted, at Dumbledore, who nodded with seeming understanding, as though anyone could understand how easy it was to penetrate a powerful range of protective spells with a single jump. "And your name?" He asked, his hands on top of each other, blue eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Godric Gryffindor." The man said simply.

Hermione stared disbelievingly, just as McGonnagall dropped the vial she had continued to grasp. It crashed to the floor and splintered, but she did nothing to repair it or clean it up. Madame Pomfrey, who had been busily cleaning nearby sheets in, Hermione suspected, an attempt to hear the conversation, let out a loud gasp of disbelief and turned around with a look of befuddlement on her features.

Yet, as usual, Dumbledore seemed to remain unaffected, and he bobbed his head in an up and down motion of understanding, smiling as ever, eyes still twinkling. "Alas, Poppy, I believe he may well be delirious. Give him a sleeping draught, and I shall return in the morning. Miss Granger, if you would return to your bed?"

Nodding blankly, Hermione returned to her bed, shaking her head as she lay back on the pillows and frowning to herself.

As she rolled onto her side, her eyes fell on the flower beside the bed and she frowned slightly, before closing her eyes to the inevitable sleep that was to come.

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It was as the first rays of sun crept through the window that Godric awoke, his body slightly sore, yet by no means broken, as had been his original plan. It took him several seconds to recognize the room he had awoken him, and it was only as his eyes fell on the sleeping girl on the opposite side of the room that he had any recollection whatsoever. He took in the beds lined against the walls, the bedside tables, the jugs of water and glasses, glistening in the morning sunlight. He took in the windows, through which he could see only grass and trees. Hogwarts, the girl had said. How very peculiar his Hogwarts now seemed. Indeed, he could not recall any such room as this. Surely they would not have been discovered over night. And yet, he remembered the peculiar clothing that the four people had worn, and wondered where on earth they had procured such ridiculous outfits. What was that old man doing wearing that bright blue sack of clothing, and that pointy hat that glittered to the point of blinding him? And that old woman, in her silly red, brown and white cloak? It was absurd. He had never seen anything like it. And the girl... why, he had never seen anything quite so revealing outside of his bedroom! That strange white shirt she had worn, that seemed to cling to her figure like... well... like nothing he had ever seen a woman wear. And the view of her breasts was far too obvious. It was indecent for women to walk around parading their goods, which only their husbands and lovers were allowed to see! A crude thought crossed his mind. Perhaps the old man were her husband? A shudder shook his body. The thought was a horrible, disturbing one. He reached for the water beside his bed, drinking it slowly and tentatively. He was confident that they would not poison him, after all, they had given him a strengthening potion, but he still waited several seconds between each sip, just in case.

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Hermione awoke, blinking against the bright light of the sun as it filtered through the panes of glass and rubbing her eyes to get rid of the last remnants of sleep. Standing, she reached for the hairbrush beside the bed, running it through the tangled mess with a groan of annoyance. Only when she heard a cough from the bed on the opposite side of the room did she remember that she was not the only patient. Without truely considering it, Hermione approached his bed, looking at him carefully for the first time, wondering vaguely how she had disregarded his good looks so easily the previous night. His black hair fell to his ears, his fringe almost covering the dark brown eyes that regarded her as she approached him, a sense of assessment and scrutiny in their depths. His face was handsome, with a strong jaw, a slightly crooked nose, and thin, manly lips. His neck was strong, and what she could see of his chest was well muscled. The arms that lay across the sheets sported large muscles, and his hands were large and rough looking. She approached him with a small frown and sat on the bed beside his once more. His eyes followed her, though he did not move his neck.

"Your eyes are like the sun." He said quietly. The graininess of his voice was gone now, there was no residual irritation of the gravelly, throaty noise, only a very soft, deep, almost factual voice. "A rising light on a sweet summers morning."

Hermione blushed, taken aback slightly, saying nothing.

"Is there a noble man enough, to gaze into them?" She met him once more with silence. He looked at the sheets of his bed, speaking once more. "Is the sparkled man, the blue robed one... your husband?"

She shook her head vigorously. "NO! No... no... no... he's my head master. I'm a student here..." She blushed crimson, and the man supressed a smirk.

"Do you... well... do you remember who you are yet?" She asked impishly, fiddling with the hem of her white blouse to avoid looking at him.

The man smiled, though it was almost bitter and resentful. "I am whom I claimed to be last night." He said softly.

Hermione shook her head as if to clear it. "But.. you can't be Godric Gryffindor!" She almost laughed at him, but restrained, carrying on. "He died! Hundreds of years ago! The name died out!"

Godric frowned, his eyebrows knitting together. "Hundreds of years ago? How could that be possible? You realize who founded this school, I assume?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know who founded this school. Yes, he was one of them! But that was hundreds of years ago! You can't be him! He's..."

His neck snapped round so fast that it clicked, but he ignored it. "The school wasn't founded hundreds of years ago!" He insisted. "I was there for crying out loud! It's logically impossible to be here if that were true!"

"Which is why it can't be true!" She told him. "There's no way you could be here if it were!"

"But it is true." He said quietly. "Perhaps it is you, not I, who is delirious and imagining things."

"I am not the one who was found on the ground with injuries to my head!" Hermione argued.

"You'll find that such things happen when someone jumps." He murmured thoughtfully, reaching for his water. "Jumping is... dangerous."

Hermione laughed bitterly. "The only way you could obtain injuries from a jump would be if you fell a hundred feet!"

Godric swirled his water, slowly. "Does Gryffindor tower still stand in this world you claim to be hundreds of years ahead?" His voice was questioning, yet almost knowledgable.

"Yes," Hermione said, distracted, "it's always been there! The founders chose it for Gryffindor because..."

"Because it stood overlooking the rest of the grounds. Because it represented the bravery that I held dear. Because to overcome a fear of height is the first step to overcoming other fears. Because of the bravery of the lion, and the watchful eye of the eagle. Part lion. Part Eagle. The Griffin." He set his glass down, hands visibly shaking.

Hermione stared. "Have you read _Hogwarts: A History_?" She questioned gently.

He looked at her scornfully. "They wrote a history book about Hogwarts?"

"I'll take that as a no then, shall I?" She said sharply. Observing him, she frowned. "What does Gryffindor tower have to do with it?"

"Where was it that I was found young lady?"

A look of dawning recognition reached her eyes. "At it's base."

"And what was it that I told your persistently twinkling headmaster when he asked how I reached his school?"

"You jumped..."

He smiled, as though a student had just answered a very difficult question correctly. "Correct." He ran his hand through his hair, then frowned. "There was a flower..." he stated suddenly, sitting bolt upright in his bed. "The flower, where is it?" A flash of worry in his dark eyes, and Hermione stood.

"It's... over there. I picked it up... what does it...?"

"Give it to me." He demanded instantly, holding out his hand, eyes wrought with madness as he looked at her. "NOW!"

She jumped and scampered to the bedside table, picking up the lily and returning to his bedside. Part of her feared to place it in his outstretched hand, but she did so, summoning all of her Gryffindor courage. He drew it tightly to him, running shaking fingers over the green stem and the plants white petals.

"Excuse me but... what is it?" Hermione asked tentatively, the scholarly side of her shining through despite her reservations of fear and nervousness.

"A Hogwarts lily." He said quietly, eyes not leaving the plant for a second.

She frowned. "A what?"

He smiled, almost sour. "Did that history book about the school tell you nothing? It was this flower that gave the school it's name! The grounds are littered with them, every spring they shoot up in the grass.."

Hermione edged back. "Those flowers aren't here... are you absolutely sure you know who you are?"

He looked as though he would snap at her again, but the doors opened, and both heads turned to look at Dumbledore, dressed today in plum robes, with his silver hair and beard falling to his waist. He smiled at them both broadly as he approached, then stopped in his tracks, eyeing the white flower in Godric's hands.

"My dear Merlin..." he said softly. "A Hogwarts lily..." He shook his head slowly. "Why, they are said to be myths..."

Godric looked at him, frowning. "Myth?"

"The Hogwarts lily has not been seen since... well, since Godric Gryffindor himself died." The old man looked at the flower somberly. "How did you find it?"

The frown upon the younger mans face could not have been more pronounced. "I had a little garden," he said simply. The announcement somehow sounded insane, and coming from the lips of a man who proclaimed to have jumped from the top of Gryffindor tower and landed hundreds of years in the future, Hermione found it quite easy to think he had mental problems. "At the top of Gryffindor tower. On the flat top."

Hermione spoke without prior thought. "There isn't a flat top on Gyrffindor tower. It's turretted!"

"On the contrary Miss Granger," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "It was once an open topped turret, meaning, of course, that it was flat topped. But it has been said that Gryffindor turretted it shortly before his death. There is a trap door through which nobody can pass, and which would, I believe, lead on to the said flat top."

Hermione looked at Dumbledore in disbelief. How he came to know such things was a wonder to her. There was nothing like that in any book she had ever read.

"If the tower still stands," Godric said softly, "I believe I can show you it."

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**I didnt know how to end this chapter...**

**Lemme know?**

**Mage of the Heart**


	3. Sunrise

**I dont own any of the Harry Potter characters **

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Hermione had never before considered how to reach the topmost point of Gryffindor tower - students only ever went as far as their own dormitories after all, and the assumption was that the next flight of stairs simply led to the final dormitory and did then not continue. However, as she entered Gryffindor common room -thankfully empty of students, who were dining in the Great Hall by this time - they did not climb either staircase towards the dormitories, but instead were led towards a portrait Hermione had nevertruly acknowledged, of a rather ugly young wizard, wearing a horribly vivid red tunic, and sporting a jet black beard, and bushy eyebrows that came so close together, it was hard to decipher one from the other. It was accomodated in a small niche in the wall, just above the window-sill and barely noticeable at all, unless the viewer were to sit on the window sill itself. Both she and Dumbledore followed the man to the portrait in complete silence, exchanging no eye contact, and following in such a fashion that suggested submission to his clear knowledge. It had been enough to see that the man had been before when he emerged into the open corridor outside the hospital wing, and instantly smiled in complete recognition, leading his two companions towards Gryffindor tower without so much as a faulty step. Although several remarks were made as to the most recent portraits, of recently deceased famous members of the wizarding world, there was no hint that he did not belong. In fact, Hermione found herself daring to believe that he may well be Godric Gryffindor, and her beliefs were only heightened when he reached the Fat Lady's portrait. The calm, kindly, plump face, which would usually smile sweetly and ask inan almost dreamlike voice for the password, instead contorted into a look of complete shock and disbelief. Jumping from the chair on which she sat, her rather rounded form shaking vividly as she did so, a chubby finger extending and pointing at the strange man, emmitting a very high pitched squeak, almost inaudible to the human ear.

Godric smiled, a handsome smile, Hermione noted, that showed healthy white teeth, something she found herselfdetermined to question later on. His lips curled invitingly, and hiseyes dancedwith welcome recognition. "Shayna, my beautiful cousin, if it is possible, you look more wonderful than I have ever seen you." He gave a graceful bow, and Hermione had to resistthe impulse to laugh hysterically. It was, after all, commonly acknowledged that theFat Lady was by no means beautiful. Even so, she found the use of a first name -something she had never before considered when referring to the Fat Lady -desperately intriguing.

"My... my... my dear... my dear cousin..."The portrait blushed a vividpink, but the plumpl lady shook her head rigorously. "Iwas assured... by that Pellity boy... the large one... that you had died... many years ago... why... you were much older then!"

She seemed to round onDumbledore, as though the kindly old man would have some form of answer to her question.

"Dumbledore, one of your students must have confunded me!"

"My dear Lady," Dumbledore smiled, eyes soft, "it would appear you are not the only one on the end of such a hex. Perhaps, you could be so graceful, as to allow us entrance."

"Password?" She asked timidly. Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but froze on realizing that she was not being addressed.

Instead, it was Godric, whose smile had not once faltered or faded from his face, who answered, his voice soft and alluring, "_fortes fortuna iuvat"_ he said. He spoke fluently, his tongue forming the words effortlessly, and in such a way that sent small and altogether unneeded shivers upHermione'sspine. Only when the Fat Lady clapped her plump hands together, tears of happiness glistening in her eyes,and swung forward tolet them through did Hermione note that this password was not the one that she had been given the previous day.

She glanced at Dumbledore, who, although slightly bewildered in expression, nodded comfortingly and indicated for her to followGodric through the portrait hole. She did so,albeit nervously, falling into step with the man andasking, without prior thought. "What did that mean?"

He looked at her assessingly.After a seconds thought, he said, "it's Latin.It means, 'fortune favours the brave." He frowned. "Do you not learn Latin, Sunrise?" His voice was by no means flirtatious, and the name was most probably nothing more than a simple referral, given that she had not introduced herself; yet even so, Hermione found a blush reddening her cheeks as she shook her head. He sighed. "What year is it, that Latin is no longer taught?"

"It's 1998..." Hermione said sheepishly.

The colour seemed to drain from his face and he looked at her in confusion. "Is it brains or brawn that awards you that badge?"

She stumbled over her words slightly, blushing repeatedly as Gryffindor led her towards the niche. "I... well... I suppose... perhaps... brains..."

He rolled his eyes. "Brains, but decidedly not words." He stepped with ease onto the window sill and rested his back on the wall opposing the portrait. "Sekhemkhet, my brother," he said softly, arms crossed on his chest, covered only in a thin silk shirt. "Does the passage still live on?"

The man, Sekhemkhet, in the portrait, shook himself, as though awakening from a long, deep sleep and smiled drowsily. "Godric? My dear fellow, how do you come to exist, athousand years on from your owndeath?"

The frown that creased Gryffindor's browdisappeared almost instantly. "My circumstances are not yet understood, brother. Nor do I wish to know of my past, or indeed, my future, whichever timeline my wandering soul is set to tread.The passage?"

The man nodded. "Yes, the passage is still here. It hasn't been visited since you're passing... I worry that my hinges may have rusted into place."

Smiling humorously, Godric saidwith ease, "_Fortuna est caeca._" He looked at Hermione with a smirk. "For your information, Sunrise, 'fortune isblind'."

Sekhemkhet smiled broadly. "Welcomereturn, brother." He swung forwards, his hinges creaking slightly as he revealed anarrow, dusty, winding staircase.Both Hermione and Dumbledore made noises of surprise; Hermione's a soft squeak of delight at a newfoundplace, and Dumbledore's a soft sighof acknowledgement. Smirking, Gryffindor stepped through the hole of the portrait, smiling at the familiarity of his passageway; the rest of his school had changed, become something he would never have imagined it to be. This passage had alwaysbeen, and would always be his.

Hermione andDumbledore stepped in after him, and Godric felt a strange sense of invasion. Even so, he began to climb the familiar staircase, running his hands through the thick dust, listening to their muffled footsteps on the concrete stairs. Hermione choked several times, before performing a bubble-head charm, delighting in the cleanliness of the air.

The stairs wound upwards for several minutes, and Hermione wondered just how far they might have to walk before they reached his 'garden'. It was then that they emerged onto the flat floor of what was once the un-turretted top of Gryffindor tower, a completely circular expanse of dust covered floor. The sounds of their feet echoed within the turrets walls, and the silence that followed was unbroken until Godric walked meaningfully towards the middle of the room, waving his wand as he went, his voice sounding more voluminous and threatening than should have been possible. The darkened room suddenly glowed, with candles that appeared from nowhere hanging on brackets on the walls. Red wall hangings draped down, lions and eagles adorning the bordering embroidery. In the centre of the room, a small, clay plant pot appeared, full to bursting of white flowers, each one identical to that which they had left in the Hospital Wing.

Letting out a sigh of contentment, he knelt at the pot, whispering softly. "_Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus." _

Hermione smiled with recognition at the school motto, then flushed in embarrassment as hebegan to speak to her once more.

"It means, 'never tickle a sleeping...'"

"I know what that means!" She said indignantly.

He smirked, stroking each petal with a featherlight caress of the fingers.

Dumbledore cleared his throat loudly, heading over to the younger man with a confidence of a man of knowledge. "Incredible," he said softly, "that your flowers are still quite so perfectly kept after a thousand years. I assume that on disappearance, a stasis spell of some variety keeps them in perfect condition?"

Frowning, Gryffindor nodded. "Yes."

"And judging by the dust of this passage, it is clear that no other has walked this stairway since."

"It was unknown by anyone else... even my fellows." He looked down, almost ashamed, but seemed to mentally shove the thought away, standing up and turning to look at the two. He jumped in shock at the bubble surrounding Hermione's head, blinking repeatedly, as though for confirmation that it was in fact there.

She blushed. "I couldn't breathe." She said simply.

"The air is clean." He replied, shaking his head and turning to Dumbledore. "Well? Do you accept that I am Godric Gryffindor?Or mustI recall my birthdate and mothers name for such clarification to be noted?I assume, as Headmaster, you have some magical knowledge. How is it that I come to be here?"

Hermione was almost shocked at the disrespect being shown towards her headmaster, and resisted the desire to hex him, instead letting the charm down and breathing nervously. Satisfied with the clean air, she awaited Dumbledore's reply.

"Oh, I've dabbled in Magic on occasion," he smiled, tapping his long, bony fingers together. "Though my time travel knowledge is not quite so good as Miss Granger's." He inclined his head politely, a smile on his kindly face.

Hermione blushed. "I don't..."

"What theory have you, Sunrise?"

She ran a hand through her hair nervously, then shrugged. "I don't really know... time travel on such a scale is... well... it's unheard of. The room at the Ministry that controls time doesn't have enough in it to carry out such a travel. Time travels would have to be spun for a ridiculous amount of time to reach here from there and..."

"You mean you know as little as we." Godric stated quietly. "Which, at the current time, is as useful as a man knowing how to cook." He turned to the flowers again, breathing deeply. "You say that time travel has been established? With this... room? This turner? Could it be... replicated, perhaps?"

Hermione frowned. "Well.. not really... if time could be replicated and remade, then everyone would be doing it to avoid dying..." She thought for a moment. "The stuff in time-turners is limited - they only use a certain amount because too much is a danger to everyone. Simply changing what you ate at dinner can have ridiculously large and dangerous results in comparison..." she began to pace subconsciously, tapping her chin as she walked. "I don't know exactly what it is... but it's definitely needed to get you home. You don't belong here after all and anything you do here could have adverse effects on the past and..."

"Sunrise is coming once more." Godric said, dryly. "Can it be done?"

"Theoretically?" Hermione enquired.

"Practically."

"Well... I..." she glanced at her Headmaster, who smiled encouragingly. "I suppose.. with enough time and..."

"The irony." The young man replied, walking over to a hanging and tracing it with his fingers. "Time is exactly the issue."

Hermione turned to Dumbledore, "Professor, might I be able to leave? I have a lesson to go to."

"Of course Miss Granger." He smiled, pointed his hand politely towards the staircase.Hermione nodded, heading away without another glance at either man.

--------

The day of lessons drew on, and as the final bell of the day rang, Hermione wanted nothing more than to slink unnoticed into her head girls dormitories and sleep. As she acted on this plan, dumping her rucksack on the sofa in her room and falling onto the pillow, however, she felt crisp parchment beneath her cheeks, and heard its faint rustling. Letting out a low complaint of tiredness, she peeled it off her skin and unfolded it, reading with blurry and tired eyes.

_Sunrise,_

_I apologise profusely for being so unforgiveably rude. I implore you to help me return to my own time, if only to save yourself from myown obscenely overly arrogant person._

_I await you in your headmasters office, and am told to inform you of cauldron cakes..._

_G.G_

_---------_

She didn't know why she went. In fact, she would have much preferred to fall asleep than go and see the dryly sarcastic, apparently suicidal man who was said to be the bravest man known to wizarding history. She assumed, as she walked along, that it was the simple unique situation he found himself in that drew her to him. She was constantly searching for challenges, or puzzles, that would test her magical ability to the limit; perhaps returning him to his own time wouldbe enough to prove there was more to her than just brains in the classroom.Of course, she wouldhave to put him in his place; Sunrise was far too much like apetname, and it made her feel decidedly nervous, something that she could not be doing with if she was indeed to return him successfully.

----------

Godric Gryffindor sat in Dumbledore's office, holdinga silver, ruby encrustedblade in his hands. The inscription was alien to him but the sworditself was so familiar that it felt almost apart of his body. Then too, there was the ragged,patched hat that was now sat onthe deskbefore him, as he caressed the familiar hilt of the blade, thinking carefully.

It felt likeonly hours ago since he had last seen this swordand this hat, yet somehow,a thousand years had passed; a thousand years of nothingness, in which hissword had been engraved, his hathad becomethatched, and his school had acquired items he had never dreamed of. The silver bowl,placed in the now headmasters cupboard, wascompletely unknown to him, swirling with silver that was niether liquid nor gas, and that called to him from across the room. He sat stock still, attempting to resist the urge to dart across the room and dip his hand into it. What would such a substance feel like? He had never seen anything like it before. And even in this time, it must be rare, to earn the reverence of a special place inside the headmasters cupboard, beside other such spindly instruments that looked too fragile to be touched.

Despite his resolve to stay still, he was in the process of walking over to the cupboard when the door of the office opened and the young woman who had accompanied he and Dumbledore to his private passage entered, looking tired and reluctant, and wearing an even more revealing top than the one she had worn that morning.

"Sunrise," he said, a smile of welcome relief spreading itself over his face. "I reallyam truly sorry for my completelyatrocious behaviour this morning. I don't know what came over me!"

Hermione sat down on a chair and looked at him with a slight frown. "Where's Professor Dumbledore?"

"Prof..." Godric frowned. "Albus? He was called away. He said something about the ministry?"

Hermione found Dumbledore's decision to leave an almost complete stranger alone in his office rather irrational, and felt suddenly conscious of the fact they were alone, and quite far away from anyone who might help her if she found herself in trouble. Her trembling fingers clasped her wand for reassurance and she waited for him to join her.

Seating himself opposite her, he lifted an eyebrow, taking the sword back in his grip and turning it in his hands.

"How old are you?" She asked, after several minutes of uncomfortable silence that seemed to stretch over the thousand years since his death. He looked up with a raised eyebrow, almost daring her to guess.

"You mean to say you don't know my date of birth, and the current date?" A smirk danced across his lips. "How disappointing."

"At what point did you want to return home exactly?" She questioned dryly. "Because if I don't help you, you could be stuck here a very long time."

He sobered, speaking apologetically. "I'm sorry. In my time, I'm thirty. Here... well... I'm much older."

Hermione nodded, frowning. "How old were you when you founded Hogwarts?"

Godric shifted uncomfortably. "About twenty. The other three were a few years older."

"Twenty?" She gasped. "But... In 'Hogwarts: A History' it said you were all already so respected in your fields of magical expertise! How could you only be twenty? You were said to be the greatest dueller of the age! And Slytherin was the best Potioneer, and Hufflepuff was the best Herbologist and Ravenclaw."

"Sunrise," he growled softly, "Age is just a number. In my time, magical merit was earned byachievement, not age. Have times changed so much?"

Looking abashed, Hermione stated stiffly, "it's been a thousand years."

He shrugged."Time is of little importance where merit is concerned. All achievement should be recognized, not discardedfor lack of years."

Hermione blinked, then shook her head. "I'm sorry..."

He smiled weakly. "As am I. Will you help me Sunrise?"

She blushed, heat rushing to her cheeks as she tried to speak. "I... well... I... could you not call me that?"

An inquisitive eyebrow raised as though he were unaware of her request. "Call you what, Sunrise?"

"That." She said sharply. "My name is Hermione."

"I'm sorry." He murmured softly. Smirking, he leant back in his chair, putting his feet on Dumbledore's desk in a casual manner. "Will you help me, Hermione?" He stressed her name, though he avoided eye contact and instead began to twirl the sword in his hand.

She nodded slowly. "Yes... I'll help you."

He gave her anoverly arrogant and smug grin, crossing his feet one over the other and smirking. "Good. Do you have a plan?"

"Not as such..." Hermione said, slightly shocked that she was being asked for one so suddenly.

He smiled. "Well, when you do, let me know." He stood and placed the sword gently on the desk. "I'll do anything you want me to, Sunrise."

-------------

**What'd you think?**

**Mage of the Heart**


	4. Goodnight

I dont own any of the Harry Potter characters

**I dont own any of the Harry Potter characters**

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**I'd like to apologise for the last chapter - when I uploaded the document I proof read it in word and no words were stuck together, but when I uploaded they were :**

**So sorry about that.**

**Thank you for the reviews so far my lovelies :)**

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Hermione toyed with the Hogwarts lily thoughtfully, eyeing the pollenated middle with absent deliberation. It was clearly a link between their two times, though she had no idea how or why. It could not, however, be mere coincidence that he had entered her own time frame with a flower which nobody had seen since his own death. As she thought, she felt his eyes on her, and looked up to meet his intelligent eyes, feeling as though she were being x-rayed for the slightest trace of an idea. There was something sinisterly scrutinous about the slight crinkle of his brow, and the way his eyebrow raised slightly above its normal line. She felt herself blush, again victim to some unknown feeling that unearthed itself when her eyes met his. There was nothing quite normal about it - she felt scrutinized and under constant examination. A week into their aquaintance, and she knew no more about him than before, except that he had a knack for making her blush, and was as arrogant as a pig. Of course, he had moments where he could make her smile, even laugh a little, but for the most part, he continued to annoy her with his ridiculous petnames, and his mouth seemed to curl in a constant smirk when she attempted to talk to him.

"While your slender little fingers seem to caress that stem almost lovingly, are you thinking about how to get me home? Or how to get me to your bedchambers?"

Hermione spluttered, dropping the flower as though it had physically burnt her. "I beg your pardon! I don't think thats entirely appropriate!"

"Forgive me Sunrise," he said quietly, "I'm just so distracted by your beauty, and so overwhelmed by the silence, I find myself incapable of rational thought." And there it was, that sly, flirtatious, yet somehow innocent smirk that seemed to make her squirm in both discomfort and embarrassment.

"You really should have learnt by now, that when I am quiet, I'm thinking," she paused, then added, "and not about sex."

Godric smiled, inclining his head politely as he tapped his fingers lightly on the desk. "Well," he said softly, "if you were to be wondering how best to get me to your chambers... I find open flirtation the most effective route."

Hermione jumped to her feet, throwing the flower down on the table in disgust. "If I've told you once Gryffindor, I've told you a thousand times, I am not interested in you entering my bedchambers, my name is not Sunrise, and I do not wish to be interrupted while I try and get your persistently horrific and unwanted person back to your godforsaken own timeline!"

Fuming, and turning a bright, angry red, she turned to leave. He leant across the varnished table and caught her wrist, apologies sincere and obvious behind his eyes.

"I don't mean to cause you upset by what I say," he murmured quietly. "I'm only attempting to get to know you better. You're so guarded and quiet; the only way I seem to be able to get any emotion or conversation from you at all is when I annoy you." His hand dropped hers and he looked down, waiting for her reply.

She was momentarily stunned. The idea that he was interested in knowing her had completely evaded her. In fact, the only thing that had seemed to interest him at all was getting home, and, possibly, the oppurtunity for sex, of a meaningless and careless nature.

"Why don't you just... ask me questions?" She said helplessly.

"I do." He said defensively. "I asked if you were thinking about me in your bedroom! Is that not to be considered a question?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Whatever time it is you come from, 'getting to know' a woman does not include obscene invitations to bedchambers, and never has done."

He smiled, nodded slowly. "You're correct, as always Sunrise." He sat back and motioned for her to sit down. "I don't like being so close to you physically so much of the time, when I can scarcely put a name to a face."

She sighed, seating herself gingerly down once more. "What do you want to know?" She asked shyly, toying with the hem of her blouse.

Godric smiled. "Whatever you wish to tell me."

--

"There's really not much to tell..." Hermione said slowly, rubbing her arm in nervousness. "I mean, I'm seventeen and Head Girl... that's really the extent of it!"

He chuckled leaning forward and crossing his arms on the desk, resting his head on them as he surveyed her carefully. "What of everything else? Favourite colours? Young men? Favourite classes? Surely there is more to you Sunrise."

She sighed, running her thumb over the nail of her forefinger. "My favourite colour is purple." She didn't elaborate on any of the other queries, and he didn't push her.

"Purple?" He said softly. "I would have thought Head Girl, and member of Gryffindor house would prefer her own, house colours?"

She laughed. "Just because I am Head Girl does not make it obligatory for me to like my House colours. Or at least, to favour them. I do like them, much preferred to green and silver in all respects, but in no way do I favour them."

Godric nodded slowly. "I see..." He tilted his head and smirked at her. "And the men?" His lip twitched in a smile as her face flushed pink.

"Nobody... not seriously at least..."

"Not seriously?" he sat up sharply. "I'm intrigued."

She shook her head. "I don't think it's anything to do with this..."

He leant across the table, picking up the Hogwarts lily and placing it uninterestedly on one of Dumbledore's units. Hermione stared, looking, for the first time, to have lost some confidence. The dumbstruck look on her face worked wonders for his ego and he grinned.

"Oh come on," he said softly. "A young lady like you, with an un-serious relationship? Who wouldn't be intrigued?" He placed his feet on the desk, arms behind his head, eyebrow raised in questioning.

"I don't..."

"In my time," he said softly, "to let a lovely girl like you walk around unchecked would be considered a criminal offence. Surely there's someone?"

"No. Nobody. Just... friends."

"Playmates?" he asked softly.

"No!" She said angrily. "We are not playmates. We're just... friends..."

"With beneficial sex on both parts?" Godric's smirk widened, to the point that Hermione found it difficult not to hit him.

"I don't believe I said anything like that! So stop twisting my words before I have you arrested for harrassment!"

Godric, blinking slightly at her abrupt outburst, said, "Sunrise... I don't believe your laws would have any meaning to me. Surely you can't reprimand someone living in the wrong time frame?"

"How are you going to prove you don't belong here?" She asked scathingly.

"I'm not." He said stonily. "You are."

She laughed. "I'll do no such thing!"

He shrugged. "Well, as you wish I suppose. It was just a question." Reaching for a water glass, he sipped and surveyed her carefully, noting the slightly darker hint of red on her cheeks, and how her eyes were averted from his of a sudden.

"So... favourite class?" He probed, hiding his own amusement behind another sip of water.

"Charms." She said, crossing arms and legs and tapping her foot in impatience. She faced the wall, avoiding eye contact.

He rolled his eyes. "Such a girls subject," he muttered quietly.

Hermione bristled, turning her gaze on him defiantly. "A girls subject?"

"Yes. No involvement of danger. No risk at all. Just mindless waving of wands." He shrugged. "Who wants to turn vinegar into red wine when there is a chance of adrenaline fuelled fighting?"

It was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes. "I'm going to go for dinner."

Godric looked up with disappointment in his eyes. "Sunrise, I'm sorry, I just... please don't go!"

He had leapt to his feet, blocking the way to the door with an almost childlike sense of loss. "I apologize I just... please, don't leave me up here on my own! You know I can't go downstairs, and being so isolated frustrates me. At least keep me company, just for tonight!"

She stared at him. "Keep you company?" The distaste was plain in her voice and he shook his head vigorously.

"I didn't mean... when I said tonight... I meant... for dinner! Not for... anything other than that..." He was, to Hermione's surprise, blushing.

Hermione looked at him for several moments, taking in the pleading expression, the physical stance with which he covered the exit from the room. "Fine..." she said slowly, lowering herself back into her seat again. He looked at her carefully, as though to see if she changed her mind, then joined her at the desk once more.

"I don't understand why I can't go downstairs." He said softly. "It's not like I'll get lost, or even as though I'll get recognized!"

"You don't understand," she replied, fingers running absently over the finely varnished wood. "You're not supposed to be in this time line. Anything you do in full view of the whole school could change the course of our whole lives, and yours! You could be accidentally hit with a hex which sends you flying through a window, and then you'll die and there'll be no Gryffindor!"

He sulked, eyes looking towards the floor. "So I'm supposed to spend my days, months, maybe even years, sat in this pathetic little room, while you attend lessons during the day, begrudgingly help for a few hours, then return to your private little dormitory to do even more work? I can't handle it! There can't be any more harm done by me going downstairs, than has already been done by taking you away from your friends for hours at a time, or even just by being here in the first place. If such small things have such huge outcomes, there's no harm in me leaving this room for a few hours! Even just for a walk in the grounds after dark!" He leant forwards and caught her hand in his. "I can't sit in here constantly. It's not who I am. If I don't get out soon, I'll snap and make things much worse! Nobody has to know my name. I'll say my names Gareth Gornwell if it will make you feel better, but please, let me at least spend some time outside." He seemed to hesitate, and just as he lifted his hand he dropped it again, eyes meeting hers. "Please Hermione. Convince your Headmaster. I can't do this... I just can't."

His face fell, and she felt herself giving in, hopeless.

"I can't promise..."

"Just try," he begged, squeezing her hand. "I need to get out of here... if just for a few hours... to see the outside... to think clearly..."

She sighed, nodding helplessly. "I'll try but... Dumbledore has his reasons, and I can't make him change his mind."

He nodded, dragging his hand from hers and sitting back. "I know... I just... it's as though I'm being imprisoned, even punished, for something beyond my control."

Hermione could only nod her head, trying to be non-commital. It was difficult to do so. She had no idea what it must feel like, to be so far from anyone you knew, yet so close to them, in essence at least. The same walls must surround him constantly as he might well have sat in with his three friends. She would have lashed out long before now.

--

The sun was setting, painting the sky in an array of pinks and oranges that were warming to the eye. It found the grounds deserted, but for Godric and Hermione, walking slowly along the edge of the lake. It had been surprisingly easy to sway Professor Dumbledore - so long as Hermione remained with Godric at all times, and if anyone were to appear suddenly she disillusioned them, there was no reason for him not to spend a few hours a night out in the grounds. As they walked, Hermione vaguely wondered who he was beneath the handsome face, beneath the cocky attitude and slightly Slytherin manner of acting. Surely, she mused, there was a personality of much more depth, hidden, perhaps just out of her view? He caught her sidelong glance and flashed a winning smile in her direction.

"What is it?" He probed, capturing her eyes with his for only the slightest moment, before casting a large, sweeping look across the glistening water.

She shrugged. "Nothing. It's just nice out here..."

He smiled, and it reached his eyes, sparking a light in them that she had not noticed to be absent. "I love this lake," he said softly, slowing to a halt and sitting himself down on the grassy slope. Hermione sat down gingerly beside him, keeping a good yard between them, though trying not to show it in herself. Instead, she listened to him as he spoke, not asking questions, but letting him talk at his own pace, watching the sun set in front of them. "The four of us came down here once... a few weeks after we decided to start the school..." A small tear slid from his eye, and he did not attempt to wipe it away, or even hide it's existence. Hermione found herself watching its trail down his face. "It was one of the happiest days of my life... just us, no responsibilites, no arguments or commitments, no conflicts... My three best friends..." he picked absently at a blade of grass, shredding it slowly in two and letting both pieces float to the ground. Lying back, he looked at her, eyes soft. "I've always wondered why it had to change," he murmured, "why we ever even started the school. It was so less complicated when it was just us." Sighing, he traced her hand with his finger, making her jump back in shock.

Blushing, she apologized. "I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting..."

Godric shook his head. "It's fine... I was just remembering certain things... certain people, and times... times when the woman I sat here with knew me truly."

Hermione looked at him assessingly, frowning. "Who was she?"

He seemed to ignored the question for a time, his hand running through his hair. Eventually, he said, very quietly. "Gwendolyn." A fondness overcame him that she had not witnessed before on his face.

She reached for his hand without thinking, sliding her forefinger under his and hooking it lightly. "A lover?" She asked, almost blushing at her own question.

To her surprise, a bark of laughter escaped Godric's throat, amusement plain on his open mouth, and in the manner he tilted his head back. When it subsided, he grinned at her and shook his head. "Not my lover. My sister." He smiled absently, as though remembering something, and looked back with a look of guilt only partially hidden by his smile. "She was my best friend too... before... well..." His eyes darkened. "I'll say only that Salazar will never be forgiven." He pulled his hand from hers and looked away.

Saying nothing, Hermione sat up, hunched over her own knees and resting her chin upon them, eyeing the gentle ripples of the water with vague interest and waiting for him to speak again. There were minutes of uncomfortable silence, where Godric remained still and vacant, his breathing deep. Hermione had the strange feeling that he was crying, but could not bring herself to comfort him. She didn't feel she knew him well enough to embrace him over a grief she could not understand, and knew nothing of, and, aside from that, anything more than holding his finger made her feel somehow out of place.

"She loved him." He said eventually.

Hermione looked at him, a frown creasing her brow. "You mean...?"

"Gwendolyn. She loved Salazar." A bitter smile twisted his lips. "I warned her before anything happened... I told her he was no good for women. He may well have been my best friend, and yes, for my part I trusted him. But he would never be good enough for her." He blinked away a fresh set of tears, but went on. "She didn't listen to me. I don't suppose I would have either, if I were her. He offered her riches... a family... love. She was always... easily led." Godric's hands shook as he stared at them. "For a year, they courted... they married. She bore him a daughter..." his eyes glistened with the light of the sun. "He was... angry. Angrier than I've ever seen anyone. He hurt her... he wasn't the first man to beat his wife, and I daresay not the last... but she was my sister, and nobody hurt my sister with my knowledge and got away with it! Especially not my apparent best friend."

Hermione stared at him. "Is that... is that why Slytherin left?"

Godric nodded. "He abandoned my friendship the moment he laid hand to her, and if I had my way I'd kill him, just as he killed her..." He froze, then jumped to his feet, realizing too late that he had said too much.

"Wait!" Hermione said as he stalked off. Running, especially in her high heeled boots, proved difficult, but as she reached him, he slowed down, turning around and looking at her through watering eyes.

"I'm sorry Sunrise," he said quietly. "I don't want to talk about my sister and Salazar anymore."

She stood there, looking at him for several moments, before she walked forwards and touched his hand, taking it in hers and rubbing her thumb assuringly on the back of his palm. "You don't have to apologize, I'm..." she stopped, trailing off and looking away from their held hands.

"You're what?" Godric murmured, eyes half lidded as he relaxed at her touch.

"It doesn't matter." She assured him. "Come on, we'd better go upstairs." Blushing, she corrected herself. "I mean, inside... in doors..."

Grinning, Godric nodded. "Ok," he said quietly. "You'd better lead the way." Hermione smiled and went to let go of his hand, only to find he gripped hers harder, eyes pleading.

"Don't let go." He said softly. "I don't want you to... not yet."

She gulped, but inclined her head slowly. "Alright. Come on.."

--

It was a surprisingly short walk to Dumbledore's office, and Hermione found herself attempting to find a longer route. Though he said nothing, and she didn't probe at anything, there was something truly delightful about holding his hand as they walked. It felt so innocent, so comforting, that if she'd had her own way, she would not have let go at the gargoyles at all. In fact as they stood their, hands joined, she wondered why she had been quite so defensive about him accompanying her to her rooms after all. Blushing at the thought, she smiled vaguely at him. "Well, goodnight..." she said, making no effort to move or let go of his hand.

He nodded, "goodnight Sunrise."

There was an awkward moment, in which niether of they met each others eyes by complete accident, and both looked in opposite directions, then she risked a glance at his turned head and smiled. "I guess I should get going..." she told him quietly.

He nodded, though the sincerity was not quite convincing, and his hand still remained in hers.

"Unless you wanted some company?" Her voice was shy and timid, and his head twisted round to look at her, a frown on his brow.

"Company?" He croaked, throat dry.

She nodded, then blushed. "Not like that!"

He smiled reluctantly. "I think I should get some sleep. But thank you, Sunrise... Hermione, I mean."

Flushing pink, she shook her head. "You can call me Sunrise if you want..."

Godric's grin lit up his eyes. "I knew you'd give in sometime."

She frowned, her nose slightly wrinkled. "You don't talk like you come from that long ago..."

He shrugged. "I'm sorry. I'm trying to blend in... I thought it might convince your headmaster I could walk around in the daytime too."

The hopelessness on her face said enough, and Godric smiled, squeezing her hand. "Don't worry though. I'll survive, as long as you continue to take these walks with me."

She smiled, "I'll do my best."

Another silence, stretched over a thousand years, yet lasting mere seconds.

"You know..."

"I think..."

Bother parties blushed. "Goodnight, Godric." Hermione said quietly.

He blinked at her use of his first name, then smiled. "Goodnight." He pulled his hand slowly back, but froze as the ends of their fingers caught each others. Looking down at her young, small, hand in his, he felt a warmth he hadn't experienced since his arrival, and as his fingers fell from hers, he felt a strange sense of emptiness and loss.

She turned, walking down the corridor and away from him. Sighing, he spoke to the gargoyles. "Cauldron cakes," he said half-heartedly.

"Quite right," one said, and they both jumped aside. A tap on his shoulder made him turn around, and he found with delight that Hermione was standing before him again.

"What is it?" He asked, attempting to sound tired, but not sure that the note of heady excitement hadn't somehow crept in.

Hermione looked at him for several moments, almost shyly, then spoke quietly. "Did house elves work for you?"

He frowned, one eyebrow raised. "House elves? What on earth is a house elf? Why would I want an elf in my house?"

"They clean and cook for you... they work here."

Godric looked quite befuddled. "Why would I want an elf when I can just as easily pay my servants to do so?"

"Oh no they don't get paid! Well here they do but... they're the same as servants, only..."

"How utterly preposterous!" Godric said, disdain clear in his voice. "It's like slave labour!"

A delighted, childlike grin broke across Hermione's face, and she squeaked a happy "goodnight Godric!" before rushing away again.

Godric stared after her, completely unaware of how happy his comment had made her.

--

**Now everyone, I need a name for a house-elf, and I'd very much like some suggestions :-)**

**Let me know what you thought of this…**

**Mage of the Heart**

**Ps. I'm in love with Godric**


	5. Poker

I dont own any of the Tamora Pierce characters

**I dont own any of the Harry Potter characters**

**--**

Unbeknown to Hermione, as she sat herself down in her private Head Girl quarters beside her two best friends, there was a large, somewhat goofy grin, plastered over her features, and seemingly impossible to remove. When Harry asked repeatedly why she appeared so happy, she could only answer with an offhand, "I'm not," before blushing and ducking behind _Hogwarts: A History_. She did not catch the knowing yet still curious look that passed between her two friends, and nor did she see them mouthing words such as "she got some" to each other. In fact, she was far too engrossed in the words of her book to notice anything, other than that she had been holding the hand of the man about whom she was reading less than an hour previously.

"Mione," Ron said finally, tapping his quill on her table impatiently and running his spare hand through his red hair, "if you won't tell us why you're so happy, will you at least tell us why I need to use Figs and Ginseng to make a Love Potion?"

She sighed. "Because, Ronald, as you'd know if you paid the slightest bit of attention during Potions lessons, they have aphrodisiac qualities. The ginseng increases the drinkers desire for physical contact, whilst the figs are associated with copulation rituals."

"Copulation rituals?" Ron uttered in disgust. "That's revolting. Why would you have a ritual just so you could get a shag?"

Hermione snapped her book shut. "Because it was traditional. And because back then boys weren't so shallowminded that they'd 'shag' anything that moved!" She jumped to her feet and pointed to the door. "I'm going to bed. Could you leave?"

Both looking flustered and bewildered, they gathered up there things and left, both muttering stuttered goodbyes as they went.

--

Hermione was by no means any more fond of the House Elf enslavement as she was in fifth year. In fact, if it were possible, she was even more liberated in her beliefs that such creatures deserved pay and equal rights to humans. And so, on becoming Head Girl, she had specifically requested a House Elf whom she herself could pay, and even befriend, to clean her dormitory. As she had expected, very few came forth, and with Dobby so old and fragile, his own service was hopeless. Yet she had found one, by the name of Poker, whose pointy ears spouted oddly ginger hair, and whose skin seemed a light shade of bluey grey. He wore mittens over his ears in winter, and sported an overly large leather jacket he said he had discovered in a Muggle bin earlier in the summer. He was naturally shunned by the other House Elves, due to his seemingly unnatural behaviour and conversing with witches and wizards, and had in fact taken up residence in Hermione's wardrobe, something he claimed to delight in, as it reminded him of a water closet, a luxury rarely used by his ancestors. Hermione had not argued her point, and was in fact delighted that he was her constant companion. It seemed rather odd to say that one of her closest friend was a House Elf, yet there was nothing wrong about it in her eyes; he was trustworthy, and gave surprisingly good advice for a member of another species. In fact, as Hermione entered her bedroom and found Poker dancing rather odd-footedly on her bed to a record playing on her wizarding radio, it brought a laughter to her that she found was very rare outside of his presence.

"Missus Hermy!" Poker shrieked gleefully. "Poker has learnt tap dance!" At this, he tapped his foot rapidly on the fluffy duvet, his toothy smile making his two ears point upwards in delight. Hermione smiled, shaking her head as she gently placed her book on it's shelf.

"Poker, that's fantastic."

"You is too kind Missus Hermy," he said, seemingly humbled. "Poker is only just starting Missus. Poker can't do anything but tap..." at this, he repeated the same tap of his foot."

Hermione walked over, seating herself at the end of her bed with a smile. "I'm sure you'll improve Poker. I could buy you some tap-dancing shoes if you'd like?"

At this, his blue eyes lit with glee, and he began to jump and clap at the same time, delight all too clear. "Oh Missus Hermy, Poker would love it, Poker would." And he hugged her round her neck in utter happiness. "Poker will make you tea Missus Hermy, and biscuits. And Missus Hermy can tell Poker all about dark, tall man with whom she walks."

Hermione looked at him sharply, her blush covering her cheeks. "How did you...?"

Poker smiled toothily, hands grasped. "Poker must have Poker's secrets Missus Hermy." He hopped from the bed, scurrying over to the kettle with a strange whooping noise.

"Poker, should I make the tea?" Hermione offered.

Poker shook his head vigorously. "Oh no Missus Hermy, you are too kind. Poker is still a House elf, and Poker would feel silly to not make the tea for Missus Hermy. Silly Poker, Poker would say. Silly, silly Poker!"

Hermione smiled. "Alright, but please come and talk to me afterwards Poker? I can't tell anyone else, and I trust you won't tell anyone."

She lay back and rested her head on her pillow, listening to Pokers whistling as he bustled about making tea. Amused, she looked over at him, smiling to herself as he handed her a steaming china cup, full of mily tea, just as she liked it. "Thank you Poker," she said softly, taking a sip and patting the bed beside her. Several moments passed, where the elf scrabbled excitedly onto the sheets and sat happily, bouncing lightly on his rear. "Do you know something?" Hermione said, the smile never leaving her lips.

"Poker knows lots of things Missus Hermy. Poker knows the name of all the teachers, and Poker knows the names of lots of friends of Missus Hermy, and Poker knows..."

"I mean, do you know something, about the man I was with?"

If house elves could blush, Hermione was quite sure that Poker would have turned a bright, vivid shade of pink. "Poker only knows that he has large hands, and dark hair, and nice smile. Poker never knows anything else. Poker doesn't want to Missus Hermy. Poker saw man smiling, and Poker saw Missus Hermy smiling, and Poker put two with two and got five."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow, then smiled, letting the exhilarating thrill overcome her. "Oh Poker, he's lovely!" She said, in such a sing-song, girly manner that she quite wondered if it was in fact her own.

Poker smiled. "Poker sees Missus Hermy. And Poker likes." A beaming smile overcame his features and he toyed oddly with one of his ears.

Grinning hopelessly, Hermione attempted to drink her tea in a way that did not mean liquid escaped the open corners of her smiling mouth, unfortunately, she found it entirely too difficult, and after spilling half of its contents on her blouse, she gave up, placing the cup on her bedside table and looking at Poker with an unhidden smile. "Do you think he likes me?" Hermione asked quietly, half-embarrassed, yet wholly intrigued. Poker grinned manically but said nothing. Sighing, Hermione shook her head, as though suddenly brought out of a dreamy reverie that she could not quite comprehend.

"Oh I'm being foolish!" She reprimanded herself, pulling her knees up to her chest. "He's a thousand years older than me! Can you imagine the newspapers?"

"Poker can. Poker likes. Poker see's "Old Man's In-Outie" on Missus Hermy's papers, Poker does."

Hermione giggled, shaking her head slowly. "No Poker. I'm not going to do anything like that with Godric. He's far too... well..." She pondered thoughtfully, searching for a word with which to describe him in as least flattering a way as possible, yet found none. "Oh curse it." She groaned. She flicked her wand, transfiguring her clothing into a mid-thigh length nightgown, before sliding under the covers with a loud grunt of annoyance. Poker shrieked with laughter and bounded up the bed, grinning at her insanely. "Night Missus Hermy." He planted a soft, house elf kiss on her cheek, before clapping his hands. The light went out, and Hermione felt him slip under the covers beside him.

"If Old Man does come in for In-Outie, please let Poker know. Poker would hate to wake up to an in-outie on Pokers bed Poker would."

Biting her lip to stop from laughing, Hermione spoke quietly. "Goodnight Poker."

--

_She was kissing him. Kissing him in such a way that made the world spin on a seemingly wonky axis. Her tongue slid into his mouth, tasting every corner, every soft cavern... his heart pounded in his chest, and he could feel hers, right beside his own, thundering just as fast and unevenly. "Godric..." she whispered. And his name on her lips fell like a caress on his ears, sending shivers of utter delight down his spine as they gripped each other so tightly they could hardly breath. He pulled back to look at her, his breath short, his hair ruffled, taking in her own mussed appearance; her hair was a mess from where his hands had massaged it, and her lip-paint was smudged across her face from where he had grazed his lips across her face. But most incredible of all were her eyes, those golden orbs housing such intense desire that he felt his chest constrict with anticipation. "Sunrise," he breathed, and their lips met again, an all-consuming fire bursting out over his body as their tongues danced..._

_--_

Godric awoke just in time to hear himself speak "Sunrise", and instantly leapt from his bed, gripping his head with his hands and attempting to rid himself of that disturbingly wonderful dream. How, he wondered, was he to look her in the eyes again, when he had just had such a fantastic dream of those eyes filled with lustful need? He ran his hands through his hair, attempting to control his erratic breathing, and ignore the raging erection currently residing between his legs. Merlin damn her, he thought, for having such lovely hands.

For he was certain it was her hands. They'd held hands on that silly little walk, far more than he thought they should have done, but no less than he wanted to. Oh yes, it was the hands. From now on, he told himself, no physical contact. No handholding, finger brushing, or any other physical contact which resulted in this; a far too painful lust, and more sexual scenarios chasing through his head than he had ever considered before. Dear Merlin, the girl was a curse!

And yet, he thought, she was a curse he was not at all inclined to deflect. Though he wished he could deny it, the dream of her kissing him, face and hair so deliciously dishevelled, was a wonderful change to those recollections of his friends that had been forced on him since his arrival. Given the choice, he would much rather prolong that dream...

Yet even with that admission clear in his head, there was no way he could possibly continue to think of Hermione like that. She was not a woman with whom he could become involved, and even if there was the slimmest of chances that he allowed to in any way become attached to her, there was no possible way in which he could do so sexually.

But he was curious.

Curious, he realized, as to whether his body would respond to the images of her that cascaded through his mind, in the same way it responded to images of other women, in his own time. He felt a painful twitch and gritted his teeth, glancing out of the window which overlooked the grounds. It was long past sunrise, and he could see several people dotted over the grassy plains of his school. It was a Saturday, he reminded himself. And on Saturdays, Hermione came to see him early, usually asking as many questions as she could about the last few days in his own time...

Her name sent shivers up his spine, and he angrily walked into the bathroom that adjoined his sleeping quarters. He couldn't well greet her with a bulge in his trousers, and so, whether it was immoral or not, he had no choice in the matter. The second he'd considered it, he'd realized that imagining anyone else would not work, especially after his reaction to that make-up smeared face and dishevelled hair. Aroused and angry, he unbuttoned his trousers and slid them low on his hip, taking himself in hand uncertainly. He knew he'd already crossed a boundary. There would be no civil conversing with her after getting such a reaction, at least not with an ulterior motive. That motive flashed before his eyes, images of Hermione sprawled out on his bed, hair messy and matted with sweat, her chest heaving as he pounded into her... his hand moved up and down his length, eyes closed to that blissful image, feeling his hand as her own tight, wet sleeve. All coherent thought left him, and all he could think of was how good she would look, how tight she would feel surrounding him. He pumped his hand mercilessly for minutes, imagining her in so many different ways, feeling himself growing closer and closer to that pinnacle of pleasure. His body shook as he approached, sweat covering him in a thin sheen, and just as he came he saw her before him, sucking him deeping into her mouth, eyes closed in delighted bliss. "Hermione!" He gasped, sagging against the wall as he let his hand drop, blissful, dreamy haze of pleasure enveloping him, the images in his mind not ceasing as he dragged himself up, pulling his trousers up his hips and wiping his sweaty brow with the back of his arm. Only when there was a knock at the door did his fantasizing cease, and he carried himself slowly to the wooden door, opening it to see the object of his affections smiling at him.

"Hermione..." he said, unnerved and certain that she knew what he had just done.

"Sorry..." she blushed, her eyes running over his chest. "I brought you some breakfast... I'll just..." she went to pull the door closed but he shook his head.

"No." He stood back and let her in. "I'll just change in the bathroom.." Closing the door behind her, he headed over to the small pile of clothing, selecting a black shirt and trousers, before heading into the bathroom again.

--

Hermione sat nervously on his bed, pondering vaguely how he had got so sweaty so early in the morning. Perhaps he worked out, she thought, or perhaps he had a bad nightmare and had just woken up... either way, he looked incredible with his toned stomach and muscular arms. The sweat just made her drool. Blushing at her foolishness, she looked up to see him re-enter the room in a loose button down shirt, which he seemed to have taken advantage of, leaving it open halfway down. He sent a small smile at her, then looked away. She smiled and flicked her wand, a silver platter of food appearing on a table before them. Gratefully, he smiled at her, helping himself to a bacon roll and eating it slowly and deliberately, attempting to forget the light blush that had graced her features.

Dear Merlin, he was a pervert.

--

Hermione reached for a bacon sandwich and nibbled it tentatively before saying "I had a dream about you last night..."

At this, Godric spluttered and choked on the mouthful of sandwich, coughing to the extent that his face turned bright red before he swallowed several consecutive gulps of orange juice.

"You had... a dream... about me?" He gasped, eyes watering and throat hurting, though interest probably written in block capitals across his forehead. At least if she were dreaming about him too it wouldn't be considered quite so wrong...

"Oh no!" Hermione said suddenly, blushing brightly. "Nothing like that. You weren't... we weren't... you met Poker?"

Rather stunned, Godric queried, "Who or what is Poker?"

"Poker is a house elf." Hermione said, smiling slightly. "He stays in my rooms with me actually..."

"House elf? You mean the little slaves you people use to run around after you?"

"Well... yes, in a way.. but you see, Poker's more of a friend than a slave. I very much view him as an equal."

Godric snorted in disbelief. "Equality is something most people cannot even define Hermione."

Hermione looked stung, and Godric felt the urgent need to kick himself. "What would you call equality then, Godric? You're all highly strung about this kind of thing. What's your view?"

"There's no such thing." Godric stated simply. "Everybody looks out for number one. It's instinctive to dodge a hex yourself without thinking about the person behind you. You can't tell me that you would sacrifice yourself for this creature, can you?"

Hermione looked at him in unhidden disgust. "I don't know how you people live in your time, but here, most people have morals and would sacrifice themself for someone else any day of the week."

Godric smirked. "Only when something is not aimed at them. If a hex were aimed at them they would dodge it. Perhaps if another was in line of shot you might jump in the way, but instinct is then replaced by folly."

Glaring at him, she said. "This has nothing to do with equality!"

"Meaning, of course, that your own theory has been sunk and disproved, thereby meaning you are searching for an escape from this conversation." He raised an eyebrow. "Am I correct?"

She glared at him. "Equality is the principle by which all persons or things under consideration are treated in the same way!"

He rolled his eyes, quipping a retort quickly. "A definition you've memorised from a book full of other such sayings that have absolutely no relevance and are most definitely not true. To have any such quality would be to treat every other person as you treat yourself, and that, Hermione, is completely impossible."

"We're talking about house elves, not people!" Hermione snapped back.

Godric smirked. "And therein lies the answer. You don't see the house elf as a person, you see it as just another creature. You've given it a ridiculous name you would never give to a person, and you expect me to believe they're your equal?"

"For your information, I didn't give him any such name. His parents chose it. And, he is a creature, and it's a fact of life, but I treat him as any other person, and he definitely has more of my respect than you do!" She went to stand, but was distracted by the loud crack in the corner of the room. Her eyes snapped round and Poker hopped over to her beaming.

"Missus Hermy, Poker has found you the loveliest dress for your evening with the Big Man! Poker thinks it would be..." he was stifled when Hermione placed a hand over his mouth and said.

"Poker, this is Godric." She pointed rudely at the man before her, who winced slightly at her bitter tone. Hermione's eyes didn't leave Godric's as she said, "he's a rude, self-obsessed, rather vain man, who has no interest in anything but returning to his time so that he can chase women and have teenagers fawn all over him." She smiled overly sweetly, then continued. "Godric, this is Poker. He's a house elf, who I'm very close to, and I view as one of my closest friends. He also shares my bed, and gives me advice, whilst I buy him gifts as I would any other friend, and teach him how to read and write."

Godric could only stare at the little creature in shock, not really listening to anything anymore. It wasn't the appearance that shocked him, niether was it the way in which he spoke in the third person. It was the fact that Hermione shared a bed with it... him.

"I think I'll be leaving," she said, standing up and brushing down her clothes. "I'll see you tomorrow I suppose," she said with distaste, glancing over Godric with a look of utter disdain. She headed for the door. Godric stood quickly, following her over to the door and hissing to her.

"If this is your way of showing your views on equality your being mighty immature and hypocritical about it."

"Hypocritical?" Hermione gasped. "How dare you! You don't have any clue who I am!"

"You say you're against treating them like slaves, and yet you have him call you Missus? You act as though you don't want to order them around and yet he's chasing around finding you a dress for an evening with some man who you don't even have th decency to tell him the name of!"

Hermione glared up at the older, taller man, anger flaring behind her eyes. "And you won't even call Poker by his name!"

Godric bristled. "I've never met him before. Or any member of his kind. Do you treat the others like you treat him? Or is it just your special little princeling?"

It was her turn to bristle. "As a matter of fact I do. Or at least I would, if they'd accept it!"

Surveying her down his nose, so worked up and angry with him, was making Godric rather hot. He was about to question her, when Poker spoke loudly.

"Missus Hermy tells Poker call Missus Hermy Hermione. But Poker doesn't likes to, and Poker doesn't likes you." The defensive little creature planted himself firmly at Hermione's feet, eyes glaring up at Godric with what would have been frightening coldness, had the elf itself not reached just below his kneecap.

"I can't say I'm overly found of you at this moment either Poker." Godric said quietly. "Though your mistress clearly has you trained into thinking she's treating you correctly."

"Missus Hermy is a good witch. And you shall not insult Missus Hermy in front of Poker, or Poker shall bite you!" At this, Poker bared some rather disconcertingly white teeth at him.

Godric quirked his eyebrow. "Trained like a protective little dog, I see. Amazing what equality you see Hermione." He held the door open for her and indicated that she leave. "Enjoy your evening with 'Big Man'. I do hope he measures up to that incredible nickname you've given him. It would be a dear shame for him to turn out to be 'Small Man' instead. But then it's nearly guarunteed he's small, isn't it, with a nickname like that?"

"For your information," Hermione said, that sickly sweet smile on her face, "'Big Man' was our nickname for you. And I suppose you'd know better than anyone how small you are." She shrugged. "But I suppose there are other men I can spend my evening with. Probably bigger men, too."

And with that, the door closed on him, leaving him staring at the wooden panel, gaping open-mouthed. Poker glared at him for several seconds, before disappearing with a loud crack.

--

"Oh Poker," she sighed, resting her head on her pillow and looking at the house elf beside her. "He's such an ignorant, arrogant prat sometimes."

"Poker thinks Big Man likes Missus Hermy. And Poker doesn't like Big Man." The elf seemed to shake in anger. "Big Man has In-Outie smell all over him Missus Hermy."

Hermione looked at him with a small frown. "What?"

"Big Man smells of In-Outie Missus Hermy. The sweat and the man juice and..."

"Please don't Poker, the thought's quite repulsive." It was in fact, one of the least repulsive things she had ever thought of. It would explain the dishevelled hair, the sweat, the near-nakedness with which he opened the door. "Who with though?" She said thoughtfully. "Only me, you, Dumbledore, Madame Pomfrey and McGonnagall know he's even here..." she grimaced. "You don't think it was McGonnagall do you?" The thought was quite sickening.

"Poker thinks not Missus Hermy." He said meekly, rubbing a large, batlike ear absently.

"Madame Pomfrey it is then?" Again, not a wonderful thought...

"No Missus Hermy."

She paused, then sat bolt upright. "Oh good Merlin!" She gasped.

"Yes Missus Hermy?" Poker asked, a smile on his face.

"You don't think...?"

"Poker does, Missus Hermy..."

Hermione covered her mouth in digust. "Oh Merlin... is he gay?"

"Yes... NO Missus Hermy!" Poker corrected, shaking his head in disbelief. "Mister Dumbledore is not Big Man's type!"

"Oh thank Merlin!" She breathed, falling back on her pillow. "That was a thought I could do without."

Poker cackled with laughter, eyes filled with mirth as he held his feet and rolled in hilarity on her bed.

"Poker, what on earth..?"

"The Big Man likes Missus Hermy. And Missus Hermy wasn't there. So Big Man helped himself Missus Hermy."

"I don't understand.." Hermione frowned, holding herself on an elbow. At this, Poker rolled his large eyes, then made very exagerrated hand movements inwards and outwards from his groin area. Hermione was torn between a wild desire to laugh, and another to retch. Poker's face was one that seemed to be a mix of thoughtfulness and constipation, whilst his hands moved ridiculously fast and he made loud grunting noises. Collapsing in a fit of giggles, Hermione shook her head helplessy. When he finally stopped, and tears of laughter had subsided, she gasped out. "I don't think so Poker. I'm far too young for him."

"Big Man is a man Missus Hermy. Men make happy time for selves when women not there Missus Hermy."

--

**I want Poker.**

**It's short. And it took as long time. But to be honest, I love Poker. **

**Thank you to anonymous reviewer Lili, for the name. **


	6. You're Here Right Now

I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters

**I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters**

**--**

Godric wasn't quite sure what was going through his mind as he sat on his bed. In fact, he had no conceptual grasp of anything, except that she had just walked out, stating quite clearly that she thought he had a small penis, and that she did not regret that she was leaving. It was frustrating and insulting, and that little bat-like creature had only made matters worse. Whatever it was, he had not made the best of first impressions for his kind, and he was in desperate need of an educaton.

For some reason he was unsure of, this spiteful thought aimed in Hermione's direction did nothing but make him feel worse, and as he sat there he began to wonder if she really would spend the evening with someone else... He had been shocked, even mistakenly flattered, when she told him that her plan was to spend the evening with him, and the idea that she had been considering wearing a dress was, at the very least, intriguing. He felt sickened by the idea he was still imagining her in the same way as he had done earlier, yet there was no reason for him not to anymore. She would not even consider it anymore, and so he was in no danger of having to tell her at a later date how he had pleasured himself to images of her thrown out before him... he frowned and shook his head. He would keep that information to himself, no matter how long she probed for it.

He stood up from the bed, sighing quietly as he overlooked the familiar grounds. How long ago the previous evening seemed now, walking hand-in-hand with a beautiful, intelligent young woman... it had almost felt like home, despite the thousand years that seperated their interlinked fingers. What good, he wondered, was feeling anything for her, when in a matter of days he might be sent home? Part of him - the foolish, immature side that found himself desperate for her company - wished that it could not be done, and that he might grow old in this time, here, with her. Yet the other part knew better, the other part knew that if something could be done once, it could be reversed. Sooner or later one of them would realize how to get home. Sooner or later, he'd leave her.

Sooner or later, he'd be alone again.

He shivered and grabbed parchment and quill suddenly. He might well have only days, in which case, he reasoned, there should not be a sour taste in her mouth as a result of his meeting her. Shoving aside lewd thoughts of putting tastes of any kind in her mind, he scribbled down a note.

--

_Hermione,_

_I apologize... again. It seems my overlarge head speaks too easily without thought of the consequences._

_I would be honoured if you would spend the evening with me again. _

_Yours,_

_G.G._

"Who's that from Mione?" Harry asked across the lunch table as he helped himself to a generous serving of steak and ale pie.

"Oh," Hermione said, folding the parchment absently, "nobody important. Just a... reminder of something."

"A reminder?" Harry frowned, pouring gravy onto his plate. "Of what?"

"It's not important." Hermione repeated stiffly. She shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's just something silly.. but listen, you couldn't be my excuse to get out of something later, could you?"

He shrugged, adjusting his glasses as he chewed. "Sure," he said, swallowing heavily. "What you getting out of?"

"A... a date... with a fifth year?"

Harry smirked, his fork freezing in mid-air. "Oh sure, a fifth year." He grinned. "I'll be your excuse, but I'm not going to settle for that pathetic..."

Ron chose that moment to arrive, throwing his bag to the floor and glaring at the plate of sausages before him. "Stupid Snape." He muttered to himself. Harry and Hermione both exchanged 'who'd have guessed' glances, and looked at him expectantly, knowing full well his explanation would come whether they wanted it to or not. "I've just been given detention for not wiping my sodding shoes after walking in the grounds."

"Why were you walking in the grounds?" Hermione queried, doodling in her gravy with a fork. Ron flushed pink, to which Harry and Hermione both smirked, and simultaneously stated "Lavender."

Hermione stood up and smiled at Harry, "I'll meet you at 7 in the entrance hall." She said, then turned and walked away, catching the tail end of Harry and Ron's conversation.

"Are you screwing Hermione behind Ginny's back?"

"Of course not! She's just asked me to cover for her."

"If you're screwing her..."

"Ginny's good enough in bed to refrain from that, Ron."

At this, Ron said nothing more.

--

Hermione looked at the dress Poker held out for her with nervousness clear on her expression.

"Poker, I'm really not sure..."

Poker shook his head, grinning gleefully. "Missus Hermy, it make Big Man angry. Poker would like that very much!"

She giggled, stroking the fabric gently. "It is rather lovely..." she said honestly. In fact, it was beautiful. The crimson red glittered with golden sequins around the hem and neckline, and it was cut low to emphasize her breasts. "But isn't it a little... over the top?"

Shaking his head, Poker insisted, "Big Man will looky, and Big Man no touchy. Harry Potter touchy, Big Man jealous." He smiled toothily. "Missus Hermy will make Big Man drool."

Smiling reluctantly, she took the dress and sighed. "Alright... but where are we supposed to go? I'm not walking around the grounds in this!"

"Poker has sorted it Missus Hermy. Poker asked Mister Dumbledore, and Mister Dumbledore says Missus Hermy and Harry Potter can eat in his office, for privacy, he says."

Hermione shook her head. "But I can't meet Harry dressed like this!"

Poker nodded. "Poker will meet Harry Potter Missus Hermy. Then Poker eats dinner too!" He smiled.

Hermione knelt down and pressed a light kiss to the elfs head. "You are a dear Poker. I must arrange a lady elf for you sometime!"

The elf blushed considerably. "Missus Hermy is too kind."

She smirked.

--

Hermione stood in Dumbledore's office feeling rather awkward. Only as she stood there, looking, even admiring herself, in the mirror, she wondered what exactly Poker had planned. It was not quite normal for her to dress like this for a simple evening spent as friends with Harry. It was overly glamorous, to the point that she wondered vaguely if he might be attempting to set them up. Yet Poker knew that Harry was with Ginny, and it niggled at her brain, even as there was a knock at the door.

"Come in!" She said absently, quickly running a hand through her hair before turning to look at Harry. She gulped. He wore simple jeans, and a plain, white, casual shirt. "I..."

"Wow." He said, adjusting his glasses on his nose and blinking slightly. "If I'd known you were going to make such an effort, I'd have thrown on my dress robes."

Hermione blushed and smiled, indicating the desk, which Poker had lain instead as a dining table, a basket of bread placed carefully beside a candle which burned without melting. Harry sat down, still gawping slightly.

"I'm... kind of... confused," he admitted, grabbing a slice of bread and looking her over unconsciously. "I mean... this isn't like.. a date? Is it?"

Hermione shook her head, embarassed. "No, no... nothing like that! Poker was just... well... he was just being friendly."

"And the guy you're trying to avoid..?" Harry probed, smirking.

She flushed, shaking her head vigorously. "I'm not telling." She said playfully.

Harry grinned, releasing a mock sigh of annoyance. "How insulted I am!" He gasped, then shrugged. "I knew you wouldn't tell me.. just thought I'd be a good friend and ask." Balling up his bread, he pushed it into his mouth, looking at her and shaking his head idly.

"What?" Hermione asked, noting how his brow creased as he surveyed her through his green eyes.

Harry swallowed his bread, speaking slowly. "What I'm wondering, is why exactly you're still single?"

She giggled, hand covering her mouth. "Oh Harry!"

"What?" He asked quickly. "You're gorgeous! Why aren't you with Ron? Or Dean? Or Seamus? Or even Neville! God Hermione, this boy you're avoiding doesn't know what he's missing!"

She smiled sadly, "he's not important Harry. I just have a silly crush, which I need to get over. And besides, he has a horrible, arrogant attitude, and has to be correct about absolutely everything!"

Harry held up his hands, "sorry I said anything."

Hermione smiled, gasping as a bowlful of creamy, mushroom soup appeared before her. "EEE! Mushroom. My favourite!" Harry laughed as she tucked in, shrugging and digging into his own.

--

An hour later found the two of them smiling over the candles, reminiscing over countless Hogwarts memories. They sat side by side, Hermione tucked against Harry's chest in a way that only best friends could understand. There was nothing sexual about the way his hand draped around his shoulders, or in the way her hand rested lightly on his chest as they spoke.

"Do you remember when you told Ron he had the emotional range of a teaspoon?" Harry asked, grinning at the thought. Hermione blushed.

"I was trying to explain that girls are emotionally deep!"

"And made a point of explaining that girls are just confusing!" Harry ducked her playful swipe, then laughed in her face, adjusting his glasses and sticking his tongue out. Hermione glared at him, then settled back against him, shaking her head. "Well, if you hadn't made out with Cho, none of it would have happened," she stated softly.

Harry glared at her. "We didn't make out." He said stubbornly. "We just kissed!"

"A kiss on the cheek that took half an hour?"

"She was crying!" Harry retorted. "I couldn't make her shut up long enough to do anything!"

Hermione raised an accusatory eyebrow at him. "You're as bad as Ron." She stated simply.

"I am not!" Harry argued. "Ron would've just pounced on her!"

"I hardly think she's Ron's type!"

"You know what I mean!"

Hermione laughed, "alright, yes, I do! But even so..."

It was then, as Hermione brought her hand down to Harry's spare one that the door opened, and Godric entered, wearing the same shirt and trousers that he had been wearing that morning. Hermione froze, as did Godric. Harry however, leapt to his feet, wand drawn and pointed firmly at Godric's chest.

--

The letter was clearly printed in black ink, and held only a few sentences of grammatically incorrect content. Godric, however, assumed that the mistakes were to do with the time difference, and so when he read it, he followed the instructions on it as well as he could.

_Godric,_

_Please come by my office this sundown, for as I must speak about situations with you._

_Dumbledore_

He could not honestly say that it made much sense after the first phrase, but it was clear that he was wanted in the headmasters office, and so, at sundown, he headed along the corridors, a disillusionment charm cast, speaking the password to the gargoyles before ascending the spiral staircase. He heard vague voices, but could not decipher them, and rather forgetting his manners, he entered unannounced.

The sight before him was not one he welcomed, and it left him rather stunned, frozen to the spot. For Hermione sat there, curled against the chest of a male her own age who Godric had not seen before. Her hand rested in his, and his spare arm draped around her shoulders. If it had not been that she had looked at him in utter horror as he entered, he might well have turned and left. As it was, when the boy jumped to his feet, wand aloft and pointing at Godric's chest.

The boy was tall, and rather well built, with messy hair and glasses that seemed to have slipped down his nose. Under his fringe, Godric could make out a thin red line, which he could not decipher to be cut or scar, but saw quite clearly the lightning bolt shape. He vaguely wondered what Hermione saw him, before the boy began to question his identity.

--

"Who are you?" Harry asked, his tone firm and strong, no fear or note of nervousness rising in his voice. Hermione felt a slight rising admiration, but as she stood up she could say nothing.

Godric looked at Hermione with a note of confusion on his face, then back at the boy, whose green eyes shone with unbridled bravery. "Gareth Gornwell," he lied quietly, hands raised to head height.

"How did you get up here?" Harry asked, stepping in front of Hermione as though to guard her from him. Godric felt a slight ripple of anger, then answered.

"I was invited. By the headmaster."

"And the password?" Harry snapped. "You just happened to know that I suppose?" He flicked his wand threateningly.

"Dumbledore himself told me the password." Godric said softly. "Now if you don't mind, I would appreciate it if you would stop brandishing that wand as though it were a mere plaything."

He looked at Hermione, who had risen from her seat, and felt his breath catch in his throat. He hadn't truly noticed her clothing on his entry, only that she had been with some stranger, but now it made his heart beat faster and his head spin violently. The red dress hugged her curves gracefully, showing off the ample breasts and flat stomach, tapering down to the curve of her buttocks. He stared for several moments, in which time Harry had moved closer to him.

"Stop looking at her!" Harry growled. "Why are you here? Dumbledore's not here, quite clearly."

Godric stared at him, then reached into his pocket, drawing out the parchment which he had recieved that evening. Harry took it with a summoning charm, and unfolded it.

"This isn't from Dumbledore!" Harry hissed. "This is written in black! Dumbledore's is always..."

Hermione let out a small squeak of realization, at which both males looked at her with interest. "I think," she said softly, "that this might have something to do with Poker.. can I..?" she motioned for the note, which Harry handed over, blank faced and confused.

She breathed out slowly, biting her lip and nodding her head. "Yes... that's Poker's writing..." she looked at Godric, "I'm sorry Mister... what did you say your name was?"

Godrics jaw twitched in annoyance. "Gornwell." He ground out.

"I'm sorry Mister Gornwell. I'm afraid there must have been a mistake. Professor Dumbledore isn't here, and niether is..."

"What about that dratted bat-thing?" Godric snapped. "If this is his doing I'll beat him to a pulp!"

Hermione looked as though she would insult him angrily, at which point Harry intervened, placing a hand on her shoulder and looking from one to the other. "Do you two know each other?" He asked softly.

"No." Hermione said, just as Godric answered "Yes." Both glared at the other simultaneously.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Fine. What's Poker got to do with this then Hermione?"

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it.

Godric snorted, then covered his mouth apologetically at Harry's steely gaze.

"Hermione...?"

"I'm not exactly sure..." Hermione said softly. She bit her lip. "Harry could you... could you leave me and... Gareth... alone? I rather think he needs some company to wait for the Headmaster."

Harry frowned. "Hermione, he's not seeing the headmaster..."

She glared at him and he sighed. "Are you sure you trust him?"

"Yes. I've been alone with him before. It's not a problem."

Harry looked at Godric for several moments, his jaw set, then nodded, kissing Hermione's cheek before leaving. "Let me know what happens," he said quietly in her ear.

Godric watched him go, bristling with unhidden anger. "So much for no beneficial friends." Godric said softly as the door closed.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Grow up." She said quietly.

"What an immature thing to say," he smirked. "Ironic, isn't it?"

"Not really."

Godric sat down and inclined his head. "So. What did the bat want from me exactly? Intervene in your pathetic date? Make a scene? Or maybe set the two of us up?" He winked at her, then sat back in his chair. "Are you going to tell me?"

"I don't even know for myself!" She snapped, heading for the door in a storm of anger. Godric caught her arm as she went past, a grin on his face as he spoke.

"You can't leave me hanging like this without a thing." He said quietly. "Don't expect me to let you walk out with a mere explanation that you don't know a thing!"

She shrugged her arm, attempting to loosen his grip, but instead his fingers tightened, not harsh or painful, but strong enough to not allow her movement. "Let go Godric," Hermione said softly, "I don't appreciate it."

Godric met her eyes inquisitively with his own. "What about your little bat friend? Won't you get him and allow him to explain himself? Seems he doesn't like lover boy quite enough to leave him with you long."

"For your information, Harry and I are nothing but.."

She was interrupted by the large crack, that alerted them both to the entrance of Poker, grinning broadly from ear to ear. "Poker is here Missus Hermy. Poker heard Harry Potter swearing, and Poker comes. Poker didn't mean to cause harm Missus Hermy. Just friendly mischief Poker meant..."

"It's fine Poker," Hermione said softly, almost sympathetic. Godric rolled his eyes.

"I suppose there was a reason for bringing me along?" He probed, glaring down at the little creature.

"Big Man is a Bad Man. Poker knows Big Man likes Missus Hermy. Poker makes Big Man jealous, because Big Man is a foolish man, yes he is, Poker thinks."

Godric looked at him with utter contempt, then turned to Hermione, hoping she did not see the truth behind the elf's words. He wasn't sure about like, but of course he was attracted to her... and now he had an increasingly arousing thought to add to his collection; her, in that beautiful, elegant gown, showing off cleavage and curves that should have been illegal.

Hermione had turned pink and said, with a voice that was quiet and timid, "Poker, please don't interfere again. It wasn't... we didn't need it."

Poker clasped his hands together and nodded. "Yes Missus Hermy. Poker is sorry Missus Hermy. Poker shall leave for bed Missus Hermy."

Hermione shook her head. "I'll see you later Poker."

The elf disappeared with a crack, leaving Hermione and Godric attempting to avoid the others eyes.

--

Godric risked a look under his hair across at her, seeing that she was looking in the complete opposite direction to him. He wasn't sure if he should attempt to breach the silence, or simply leave. Only when he realized that his hand still gripped her arm did he make any change to his position, releasing her and looking at the floor, but not before he saw her turning to look at him out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm sorry about Poker." She said quietly. "He didn't mean it..."

Godric looked at her, nodding slowly, his throat dry. "It was... an easy mistake to make."

Hermione bit her lip, then sat down softly on the chair. "The thing is," she started, "I think he thought I rather liked you..."

His eyes and neck snapped round quickly, and Godric stared at her, eyes rapt with attention. "What do you mean?" He asked, hoping his interest was not quite so clear to her as it was to him.

"Well... I think I made a comment last night... about you... and he might have taken it the wrong way."

Godric frowned. "By that you mean...?"

Elaborating slightly, Hermione answered, "I mean that I said you were lovely after our walk last night.. and he took that to mean that I... that we... that I was harbouring certain feelings towards you."

The man could only stare at her for several seconds, before his ability to swallow returned and he wet his dry mouth. "And are you?"

She looked as though she might snap at him, as though the mere idea of her in fact being attracted to him was the single most disgusting thing she had ever heard. To his surprise, the initial look faded and she looked at him thoughtfully. "I honestly don't know..." she said softly.

Godric sat down next to her, resisting the urge to probe, waiting on her to talk again. The silence rankled him, causing him to fidget uncomfortably as she toyed with her necklace, apparently putting off the inevitable moment when she would have to talk to him in some way, shape or form.

"I mean," she started, "I thought maybe I could..."

"And...?" It was hard to keep impatience from his tone.

"And then," she said, eyes flashing slightly, "I realized what an arrogant, self-righteous prick you could be."

Bristling with annoyance, yet attempting to hide it, he managed a grating "I see," before falling silent and looking away, arms crossed over his chest in silent defiance of her words.

She waited, then spoke agan, almost murmuring, as though hoping he would not hear her. But he did; every single word that left her soft, luscious lips, he heard, and he held them dear. "It's confusing," she spoke dreamily, almost enchanted, and it was, to say the least, rather flattering that the topic of conversation was he himself, "because sometimes, you're one hundred percent adorable, and then others... you treat me like a child." He remained quiet, sensing that she was not yet done. "But last night was... well... I haven't enjoyed anything quite so much in a very long time... and it made me feel... happy, I suppose."

Godric surveyed her closely, almost wanting her to keep going, just so he could listen to her voice. "I'm sorry." He said softly. "I don't mean to treat you like a child." He tentatively reached for her hand, holding it in his and feeling the last meal he had consumed dancing around in his stomach. "I don't feel exactly.. comfortable here. Everythings different to how it was in my time. I'm stuck inside all day, with only a walk in the evening to look forward to. I don't mean to snap out at you, I just sometimes feel as though I have to lash out at something, or I might become a spoon for all the emotional good I'll do."

Hermione looked at him in confusion. "Did you say a spoon?" She asked, heart skipping a beat slightly.

He frowned. "Yes... is that wrong?"

"No!" Hermione said quickly. "No. Not wrong at all just... odd..." she ran her spare hand through her hair and breathed deeply.

Godric looked at her hand in his and sighed. "When I'm not angry with you," he said softly, "I really do enjoy myself."

A small grin cracked his features, lighting up his face with utter happiness. Hermione saw the handsome man behind the sullen exterior of that morning, the man who might well belong to that handsome body she had admired silently, and smiled back nervously.

"I enjoy myself too," she whispered timidly. "Quite alot..."

He nodded, squeezing her hand softly. "Might we... go for a walk?"

She considered for a moment, then nodded. "Alright."

Standing, he helped her to her feet, again admiring her curvaceous figure, nonplussed at the fact it was his hand she held. Before he led her to the door, he asked quietly, "am I forgiven, Hermione?"

Hermione blushed and nodded. "Yes..." she hesitated, then said, "but why have you stopped calling me Sunrise?"

Godric blinked slightly. "I... well... I assumed that... it seemed silly to call you a petname while arguing and... I was trying to treat you like a grown up."

She smiled, rubbing his hand with her thumb lightly. "There's nothing wrong with petnames."

He grinned. "No. Perhaps not."

--

They found themselves by the lake again, holding hands on the grass, watching fish dart under the water as they spoke in soft, quiet voices, despite being the only people out. The sun was setting again, and the colours set a romantic mood that sent shivers of delight up Hermione's spine.

"I don't think you're a child." Godric assured her softly, hand holding hers firmly, as though afraid she would pull it away. She only smiled.

"Really?" She rolled onto her side and looking up into his face, wanting desperately to rest her head on his chest. "What do you think I am then?" she asked cheekily, grinning as he smirked.

"I think," he said softly, watching her golden eyes with amazement as they danced and glistened, "that you're a woman."

She raised a mocking eyebrow. "A woman?" She repeated slowly.

"Yes." He said quietly. "An exquisitely pretty and intelligent woman." He gingerly lifted his free hand to tuck a stray hair behind her ear. Before she could answer, he went on. "You're going to ruin that dress if we stay on the floor."

Hermione smirked. "If it was going to get ruined, it would have been done by now."

Godric nodded slowly, hand resting on her cheek. "Even so.. it might be best to go inside."

"And if I don't want to..?" Hermione murmured, raising a quesitoning brow, as though daring him to answer.

"If you don't want to," Godric replied, "then you may enjoy this night by the lake alone, for I have sleeping to do."

She opened her mouth, but he grinned at her before she could make a noise. "Unless you can convince me to stay of course..."

It held such daring in it that Hermione found herself bristling with annoyance at his unashamed arrogance, yet at the same time, her body tingled as she edged slightly closer, lifting herself up slightly to whisper in his ear. "How could I do that?" She whispered seductively. His heart skipped several beats, his breathing became ragged, and he managed to answer with a coarse, "use your imagination" before closing his eyes in an attempt to regain control. As it was, her mouth pressed itself to the soft skin of his ear, and he could hardly control the burning need that grew in his stomach as she languidly trailed her wet tongue over his earlobe. He shuddered slightly and twisted his head to look at her, eyes dark and heated.

"What are you doing?" He croaked, unable to move himself, or tear his eyes away from hers.

"Experimenting," she replied quietly. "Is that alright?" Her mouth was inches from his now; he could see each line of her lips, could smell and feel her breath...

"No..." he whispered. "It's half left." He tilted his head slightly, pressing his lips to hers in hesitant contact. She seemed to shake with anticipation, and it was with great difficulty that he pulled back, resisting deeper contact. "That was foolish of me..." he said quietly.

"Why?" She asked, eyes half lidded.

"I'm too old." He said softly.

"Only thirteen years or so..." she replied, her hand resting on his chest, fingers grasping the fabric of his shirt gently.

Godric snorted. "And the extra thousand years."

"Who cares?"

"I do." He whispered. "And you should too."

"You're here. I'm here. I want to kiss you. You want to kiss me. Forget about numbers and ages."

"Who said I want to kiss you?" He said.

"You did. When you kissed me." Her lips moved to meet his again, but he pulled slightly away from her lips.

"I could go back any day." Godric argued.

"So? Shut up and let me enjoy it while you're here."

He shook his head. "I can't... it's very... very wrong."

"Why? Because you're not meant to be here?"

"Yes."

"Well then maybe you should realize that perhaps you _are_ meant to be here. Maybe this _is_ where you belong." Hermione's hand strayed to his face, her thumb tracing the line of his lips. "You're here right now. So maybe this is how life is. Maybe this is how you're meant to live." She pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth. "Either way, I'll never forgive you if you leave me lying here in an elegant dress without so much as a kiss goodnight."

Godric let a hiss escape his lips, then he looking into her hot smouldering eyes for one moment, before pressing his lips forcibly to hers.

--


	7. A Big Number

I dont own any of the Harry Potter characters

**I dont own any of the Harry Potter characters**

**--**

He didn't know how long they lay there, their mouths tentatively exploring each other, sending tingles of delight and lust up his spine, reaching every extremity of his body and warming his cold fingers. Through the fabric of her dress he could feel her body heat, a feeling that was so delightfully reassuring in itself that he found it difficult to believe he had felt so apprehensive about touching her. Her fingers wound into his hair, pulling him gently closer in a deeper kiss that sent his heart pounding. He might have questioned what he was doing, he might even have pulled away from her, had the thought of that pathetic pubescent boy lounging all over her not intervened. If it was a choice between himself and that inexperienced and fumbling buffoon, he assured himself that he was the best choice.

"You smell good," he whispered against her lips, eyes still half-closed as he spoke, mouth returning to hers instantly.

"You taste good," she said back, running a hand down his neck and trailing her fingertips over his skin. The hairs stood on end and he let out a rasping breath, meeting her eyes and allowing his own hand to trace her cheek.

"You're beautiful," he said, with such sincerity that she was lost for words. "What on earth are you doing letting an old man like me even touch you?"

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it again, blushing red. Instead of answering, she pressed her mouth lightly to his again, chastely brushing lips and showing in no uncertain terms that she did not, by any means, mind that he was thirty-something years old.

"If this makes you uncomfortable..."

"Shut up." Hermione said softly. "It doesn't. So stop. If I felt uncomfortable we wouldn't be out here." She shivered slightly, feeling the brisk evening wind on her skin.

"You're cold." Godric said. It was meant to come out as a question, and yet it sounded to him that he had said it in amazement. She giggled and nodded slightly. Without considering it, he rolled onto his back, pulling her against his side and wrapping both arms around her.

"Better?" He asked. She looked slightly surprised, but nodded up at him shyly. She kept her face deliberately away from his chest, not wanting to rest it on him and push her luck.

"What are you doing?" He said bluntly.

"I'm relaxing," she replied, though the grimace on her face told a very different story.

"You're sitting there as though you have a deformity." Godric said. He moved a hand to the back of her head and pushed it lightly onto his chest. "There." He smiled. "Now you can tell me if my heart stops working."

Hermione giggled and shifted herself slightly closer, her hand running lightly over the soft fabric that covered his chest. Hesitantly, Godric tilted her head up, pressing his lips to hers once more. She kissed him back gently, tongue tracing his lips as the calming sound of water filled her ears.

"Let's go inside," Godric said quietly, "it's getting cold.. and dark... and damp..."

Hermione smiled, pulling away slowly and letting him help her to her feet. The chill of the wind hit her again at the loss of his body heat, but once again he pulled her to his side, arm around her shoulders as they walked back towards the castle.

--

Harry sat in Gryffindor tower, watching the two small figures lie beside eachother on the grass, with a mixture of mild curiousity and violent rage. He could have recognized Hermione from miles away from the way she walked, as though she had just put down a bag containing hundreds of bricks. And there was no mistaking that dress either. The arrival of such a strange man, and one who just happened to know the password to Dumbledore's office, was more disconcerting than Ron's previous announcement that he would turn gay if Luna Lovegood did not marry him. As the two held hands and embraced, Harry felt the compelling need to alert Dumbledore to the mans presence - only an hour ago Hermione had acted so coldly towards the man that she might have cut off his manhood given half the chance. Yet now they walked and embraced like a couple... Wonderings of whether the man had somehow slipped Hermione a love potion crossed Harry's mind, but he knew Hermione was much less stupid than that.

"Harry, have you done this Transfiguration essay?"

"It's in my trunk," Harry called back, listening to Ron as he scrambled to go up the spiral staircase.

"Thanks!" Ron called.

"No problem." Standing up, Harry approached the portrait hole and headed for the Entrance Hall.

"Where do you think you're going at this hour?" The fat lady scolded him.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Nowhere," he said, and walked on.

--

Hermione let her arm slide around Godric's back, absently tracing a pattern over the fabric. As he rested his head on hers, his hand gripping her spare one, they heard hurried footsteps approaching. Godric looked around for a place to hide, finding only a broom cupboard, but even as he went to enter it, he heard the angry outcry of the strange boy from Dumbledore's office.

"What have you done to her?" Harry said, green eyes flashing with unsupressed rage.

Godric stared blanky. "I..."

"Harry, he hasn't done anything!"

"He's drugged you!" Harry said, wand pointed at Godric in a firm hand. "I saw the two of you, he's given you a lust potion or something. You've only just met him! I knew I shouldn't have left you alone with him.You've never met the guy before and you're all over him! He's a..."

"HARRY!" Hermione snapped. "I have met him before, and if you'll come to Dumbledore's office, then I'm sure he'll help me explain..."

"I'm not letting him near Dumbledore! He's one of Voldemort's spies, he has to be!"

Hermione hissed. "You're beginning to sound like Ron, jumping to all these conclusions."

At this, Harry stopped, jaw gaping. "I am not like Ron!"

Hermione quirked an eyebrow, then looked at Godric. "Come on. Dumbledore should still be up."

Godric glanced from Harry to Hermione, then shrugged and placed his hand in hers as a silent act of defiance against the younger mans accusations.

--

Albus sat at his desk, his half-moon spectacles low on his nose as he bent over to write his latest advisory letter to the Minister for Magic. His hand formed each letter with perfected precision, and even when there was a brisk, unexpected knock on the door it did not falter in its movement.

"Come in," he called, dotting the full stop of his sentence and replaced the quill in its inkwell, looking up to see who his visitors were.

"Ahh, Miss Granger, Godric! How wonderful to..." he trailed off as Harry Potter walked in, eyes flashing angrily as he demanded an explanation.

"Professor! I don't know who he is but he's done something to her! Look at her!"

Albus looked, and admittedly, the sight of Hermione Granger holding Godric Gryffindors hand was, at the very least, a shock. He met Hermione's eyes with his own twinkling blue ones, seeing her blush and turn her head away.

"Ahh yes, Harry, I do believe you have not met our visitor..."

Harry blinked. "You... you know him?"

Albus chuckled. "How well can you know a man whom history professes to be dead?"

Harry frowned. "Professor I don't..."

"My dear boy, please sit down. Miss Granger, please..." He motioned to the three chairs before his desk, and all three walked hesitantly over, placing themselves gingerly in their chairs. Harry stubbornly took the middle chair, forcing Hermione and Godric apart.

Godric resisted the urge to glare at the younger man and instead averted his gaze to the elderly mans twinkling gaze.

"I assume, Harry, that Miss Granger has failed to tell you who our mysterious guest is?"

Harry glanced at Godric through hardened eyes, then back at the headmaster. "He said hid name was Gareth Gornwell."

Dumbledore blinked, almost stupidly, a look unbecoming of his great intelligent. "Gareth...?"

Anger visibly shot through Harry. It was clear from the sudden movement with which he twisted round to glare at Godric. "Who the hell are you?"

"Harry, Harry, my dear boy. I believe the situation can easily be explained if you would listen for a moment to Miss Granger."

At this, Hermione gasped. "Professor, I don't think I can..."

"Miss Granger, it is quite clear that you have more knowledge of the current situation, so please, if you will.." he flourished his hand in invitation, and Hermione sighed.

"I don't know where to start..."

"Who the hell is he?" Harry snapped, rounding on Hermione.

"Do not," Godric said quietly, yet in a voice that held menace and protection in every syllable, "yell at Hermione."

Harry's jaw clenched and he looked back at Godric, currently regretting his choice of seat. "Why don't you tell me then?"

Rolling his eyes, Godric said softly, "my name is Godric Gryffindor."

The silence that followed was rather welcomed in Godric's opinion, and the look on Harry's face was almost priceless. After several moments, Harry's voice cracked. "You can't be. He's dead.. and so are all of his descendants!"

Godric glanced in Hermione's direction, looking for help. She sighed. "Godric's had an accident... something happened that made him come forward to this time... and we don't know what it is."

"But... you... he..." he made frantic motions at his mouth and pointed repeatedly from Hermione to Godric. "Kissing... hands... dress..."

Hermione blushed. Godric, too, had the good grace to look slightly ashamed. "Well.. he's been here for quite a while... and we... it was only tonight..."

Godric snorted in amusement, then stopped himself, pressing his fist to his mouth to stop from laughing.

"What's so funny?" Hermione said to him, raising an eyebrow.

Godric smirked, throwing a small glance of amusement at Harry, then winking at her. "We've been breathing sex tension from the moment we met..." She shook her head slowly, telling him silently that now was truly not the time.

"I don't get it." Harry said stiffly. "How is he here? How do you even know who he is? Why do you even believe he's not Voldemorts spy?"

Hermione opened and closed her mouth repeatedly, then looked at Godric blankly. "I... I don't know... I never... I didn't..."

Godric frowned. "Who or what is Voldemort?" He said, clearly dumbfounded. His question was directed at Dumbledore, though his eyes found Hermione's and there was some depth of pleading for trust in them that made her shiver agreeably.

Dumbledore's twinkling gaze was not missed by Harry however, and he looked at him quizzically, quite forgoing his manners and awaiting the headmasters answer without polite question.

"I can safely say, Harry, that he is most definitely not a spy." The twinkling remained, and yet the headmaster did not elaborate.

Harry waited, then suddenly, "how can you know that?" He demanded. "How can you know he's not a Death Eater."

"Because, Harry," Dumbledore said, his tone slightly harsh, "it is my job to know these things, and until I recieve proof otherwise, then I hold firm to that belief. Now, if that is all.."

"No! It's not all!" Harry's face was flushed with anger, and yet he could tell that the conversation had been closed, and that he his welcome had been worn out.

"I believe it best to continue this discussion at a later date, Harry. Perhaps you and Miss Granger should return to your House Common Room."

Hermione stood instantly, placing her hand on Harry's wrist and attempting to lead him towards the door. Godric also stood, though his concern was not of Harry's departure, but of Hermione's.

"Perhaps, Godric, it would be best for you to remain here for a small time. I believe there are things that we should discuss." Dumbledore's voice did not hold invitation; it was more to be considered a well disguised order. Godric looked at Hermione for several moments, attempting to meet her eyes, but her gaze was averted as she led Harry from the room. Harry's eyes did not leave Godric as he was pulled and led gently from the room. The door closed on Godric and Dumbledore, and a silence enveloped them that made the hairs stand up on the back of Godric's neck.

--

Hermione didn't let go of Harry's hand until they reached the bottom of Dumbledore's staircase and were safely outside the gargoyle-guarded passage.

Harry's jaw was set determinedly, and Hermione was somewhat scared to break his stubborn exterior to gauge just how angry or confused he really was.

It was Harry that broke the silence, his cold voice haunting and chilling compared to the warm and relaxed tone Hermione had come to expect from him. "Why didn't you tell me?" He cracked. Hermione had to admit, it was not quite the question bombardment she had built herself up to.

"What do you mean?" She asked timidly.

"I mean, why didn't you tell me about him. I'm you're best friend Hermione - I have been for seven years haven't I? So why am I finding out about some guy coming forward a thousand years by having him barge in on our dinner?" The hurt in his voice was obvious, and it was clear to Hermione that he was not angry about Godric's presence anymore.

"I... we... I didn't think it was a good idea. He's not supposed to be here, and the more people that know about him, the more likely it is for history to change..."

Harry looked at her in disbelief. "Hermione, he's here, whether people know it or not. I can be trusted you know! I'm not likely to blurt it out to the nearest person! I have some control!"

"I know Harry it's just..."

"It's just what? It's just that you're sleeping with him? It's just that you're not willing to share this with me? Haven't I earned even a little bit of trust?"

Hermione caught his hand and shook her head, tears threatening her eyes. "You know that isn't true. When I had the time turner I was told it could change history and not to tell anyone. And this is on such a larger scale! Please Harry, you have to understand, I never wanted to hide it from you I just... I just..."

Harry looked at her, and slowly the anger and hurt dissipated from his eyes, replaced by a soft sympathetic look that led to an enveloping hug.

"It's alright.. I'm sorry I overreacted.. but... isn't he a bit old for you?" Hermione gave a watery chuckle.

"He's not that old?"

She practically felt his frown on her head. "Only a thousand and something..."

She smiled. "Age is a number."

"Yeah..." Harry agreed. "A very, very big number."

--

Godric sat himself down and surveyed the older man carefully, trying not to appear nervous or scared. It seemed, however, that the man before him had a kind and welcoming aura only when something of serious nature was not being discussed.

"How did you know?" Godric asked, breaking the unnerving silence that stretched between them.

Dumbledore smiled at him in a chilling manner. It reflected none of the charismatically sweet expression that Godric had come to expect, and he rather regretted even questioning the man.

"I this an assumption that I will tell you anymore than I told Harry?"

Meeting Dumbledore's eyes levelly, he raised one eyebrow. "I believe that there are certain things you felt Harry was in no need of knowing. I on the other hand, am the one you've inevitably spied on."

"Spying, my dear Godric, is not a word in my vocabulary. I have, however, noted certain things that tell me quite forcibly that you are who you say you are."

The feeling of intense vulnerability overcame Godric, and he felt almost as though he were a puzzle simply waiting to be pieced together. "And what exactly might they be?" Godric probed, his eyes not leaving Dumbledores.

"Priori Incantatem." Dumbledore said softly.

Staring blankly, Godric said nothing.

Dumbledore elaborated slowly. "I tested your wand, to see the spells that you had used recently. I found spells that are not only lost to the knowledge of many, but also spells that are illegal in the current day and age, and that have not been used in over two hundred years at least. Then there was the clothing; I asked myself why a spy of Voldemort's would even consider wearing such clothing and holding to such a farfetched and altogether unbelievable story. Then, of course, there was the lily. A lily that I know is said to have died with the last founder of Hogwarts." His eyes were sad as he looked at Godric, but he continued on. "Your wand is not registered with the current Ministry of Magic. It is lost to us in fact, possibly in your own time and your own tomb... it is your identity, and I know that you truly are Gryffindor." He looked at Godric with a small smile on the corner of his mouth. "And I also know..."

Godric nodded slowly. "You know how to get me home."

Dumbledore's sad expression did not falter. "I do."

Godric did not question how he knew that this were true, he could only confess that in that moment where Dumbledore explained his reasons for believing in him, he understood that Dumbledore knew more to the situation than he had let on, and that the oppurtunity to go home was presenting itself in all forms. He nodded bluntly, the force of that knowledge hitting him like a ten tonne brick.

"You didn't say anything... why haven't you told Hermione? She's been working to get me home... you said you knew less than she did."

Dumbledore smiled. "I do, my dear boy. I know much less about you than Miss Granger. I believe Hermione deserves to work this out for herself... though if you wish to return tonight, then you have my solemn oath that I will not withhold information from you and you may return."

The blank, empty feeling swamping Godric's chest left him chilled and uncertain. "I will... consider it..." he reasoned with himself that one more day would not hurt... he could at least say his goodbyes. "Who is this Voldemort?"

"He is your friends descendant..."

Godric's head snapped to attention. "Rowena's? Helga's?"

The look on the headmasters face was enough for Godric, yet even though Dumbledore had most certainly understood that Godric had realized the truth, he spoke the single word that haunted Godric's dreams.

"Salazar."

--


	8. Yours And Mine

I dont own the Harry Potter characters

**I dont own the Harry Potter characters**

**--**

It wasn't his business - it wasn't his time to meddle in, and it was not his enemy to defeat. And yet, even as he lay there in such blatant defiance of his own involvement, he could not fight the feeling that he was needed, and that it was his destiny to help. He was here, in a time that his enemies descendant was wreaking havoc and pain on the whole of wizard kind. His enemies descendant: an enemy who deserved nothing more than a shovelling of manure on his headstone and a vase of dead flowers. He had sworn, more times than he could count, that if ever he had the chance to avenge his sisters death he would sieze it with both hands... and yet the mere idea of it seemed unnatural now, as though by staying he meddled with the very nature of life and time itself. The darkness outside his window bore with it a chill that slid through his body, covering his bones and forcing him to shiver. He could not stop the overpowering feeling that he should not be here, and yet found himself listening too to the small voice inside his head that seemed to whisper of fate and destiny... The tap on his door went unnoticed for several moments, and only when there was a sharp knock did he shake himself from his deep thought and mutter a half-hearted "come in."

He looked up without interest, and even when he saw Hermione stood before him, wearing a smug smile that said she had done something she was extremely proud of, he could not find it in himself to smile back. She seemed to glide over to him and pressed her lips to his with such delicacy it might have been misinterpreted as a dream. Yet even as her tongue probed at his mouth, sliding in to meet his gently and tentatively, he felt as though he did not belong there. "Hermione..." he murmured, pulling his mouth from hers lightly.

"Shhhh..." she whispered, pressing a finger to his lips, a mischievous grin on her face.

He shook his head, grasping her hand in his and pulling it into his lap. She looked at him in confusion, then sat herself beside him, eyebrows slightly creased in a frown.

"What's wrong?" she asked softly, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

Godric looked at her for several moments, then back at the floor, before speaking quietly. "This Voldemort... he's Salazar's descendant."

Hermione nodded slowly. "Yes..."

"You remember what I said last night? About how if I ever had the chance I'd kill him as he killed my sister..."

"Of course I do..." she whispered softly.

He looked at her, pain and anguish so clear in his eyes that she felt the compelling need to kiss it away. "This might be my chance..." he said emphatically. "I could have a chance to avenge Gwendolyn, to make Salazar pay for all that he did to her!"

Hermione said nothing- instead she stroked his hand comfortingly, waiting for him to continue, sensing that there was emotion about to be shown that she had not yet witnessed in the man before her.

"I know it's meddling with time to get involved," he said quietly, "but the fact of the matter is, now that I know he's here, and that Salazar didn't just die as I thought and hoped he might have done, I can't help but feel as though this is the reason I'm here; to avenge her. Do you believe in fate Hermione?"

"Yes." She said softly. "Yes, I do."

"Then you understand?"

"I understand why you think this might be fate, yes," Hermione said carefully. "But I also understand that a single wrong movement can change history and future for the worse, and that by helping us fight against him you'll be risking almost every life currently in existance."

Godric couldn't help but allow a small smirk to cross his face, "don't be so overdramatic," he implored, stroking her face.

Hermione looked at him sternly. "I'm not being overdramatic. If you die here, then any children you might have been destined to have won't be born, and niether will any more of your descendants, meaning that whole generations of numerous families in existance are not born because of it, and possibly changing the entire course of life."

Godric looked at her in disbelief, and something close to disdain. "You see this all as just one big experiment, don't you?" He said scornfully. "You see me, not as a person, but as a tool in order to work out how best to prove yourself as intelligent. You don't seem to understand that this is my life we're talking about, my sisters life, my whole belief system!"

"Of course I understand!" She snapped, jerking her hand from his. "But the fact is that you have to be mature enough to accept that you have descendants living in this time, that may not even be born if you put a foot out of line here!"

Godric stood up, walking to the window and taking several deep breaths before saying simply, "I don't care about them."

Hermione could only look at him in utter disbelief.

"I don't care about them," Godric repeated, "because I've never met them. I never will meet them. It doesn't matter whether I have hundreds of descendants alive now, what you have to accept is that to me the people of this time are nothing more than a distant speck of existance, just as to you the people of my time are nothing but a name in a history book. You think I care more about these people here, than I do about my sister? Do you really think I'll care whether they're born if I can go to my grave with the knowledge that I stopped another person dying as a result of his blood?"

"How can your own kin be so insignificant," Hermione queried, "when your whole argument is that your enemy has Salazars blood - a mere drop of his blood! How is that any more important than yours?"

"BECAUSE I DIDN'T KILL ANYONE!" Godric roared, turning on her with anger and pain distorting the handsome lines of his face. "BECAUSE HE HURT THE ONE THING THAT I GAVE A DAMN ABOUT! BECAUSE EVERYTHING I LOVED HE TORE APART! BECAUSE HE PUT ME THROUGH MORE PAIN THAN ANYONE SHOULD EVER HAVE TO GO THROUGH, AND HE DESERVED TO DIE!"

For the first time in Godric's presence, Hermione felt scared, and it seemed that almost instantly, he recognized it as such. "I'm sorry..." He whispered, stepping forward with a hand outstretched. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to yell at you... I was just... I'm angry... he angers me still.. I can't apologize enough..."

Hermione stepped back from him, shaking her head. "Nobody deserves to go through that Godric, I'll give you that much. But how can you stand there and even begin to hint that your descendants are less important than his. I thought your house was meant to be one of bravery and loyalty, not cowardice and disownership." She looked at his still outstretched hand and shook her head. "I think for the first time, I'm actually ashamed to be in Gryffindor." And with that she left the room, without a glance over her shoulder.

Godric stared after her for several moments, then left the room, running after her as he chased down the corridor, grasping her wrist and pulling her back.

"Hermione..." he started.

"Let go," Hermione said softly, not looking at him as she tried to pull her wrist away.

"I'm sorry." He said, trying not to pull her against him to stop her running from his company. "I don't mean to be like this... but you have to understand, it angers me so much that I don't think straight... I just.. I don't know what comes over me... Can't you imagine how I'm feeling? How would you feel if you were in my position Hermione?"

She looked up at him, eyes watering. "I don't know..." she whispered, "but I wouldn't yell at the one person who was trying to offer support."

He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Hermione seemed to wait for some kind of movement or effort to communicate. When none came, she pulled back and whispered very quietly, "goodnight Godric."

--

A week passed- a week in which she did not venture to come and see him, nor return his letters or make any sign of acknowledgement to his existance. His evening walks were spent alone, with only the river and the birds for company. The comfort and thrill he had felt when he held Hermione's hand on the walks was replaced with a chill that made him wonder why he even bothered to venture out. Several times, he considered returning to Dumbledore and asking him to return him home; each time, he chose not to. He told himself that he wished to remain in order to fight Voldemort, his enemies descendant, but as the days passed by and his longing for Hermione's company increased, he realized that in comparison he could hardly care less. He did not feel as though he needed to fight Voldemort as a vengeance for his sister, but more that he needed to stay, just to make sure that she would not forget him. He felt suffocated, trapped and encaged. He felt he could do nothing but wait, and found himself hoping for a chance to run into her. Several times he considered finding her chambers and slipping in to see her, before he remembered that there was a password on her door, one that he did not know, and it was probably covered with a portrait of someone who he had never met.

When there was finally a knock at his door, in the late hours of sunday evening, Godric leapt to his feet, rushing to open the door and greet Hermione, only to find that the person on the other side was niether female or welcome.

The green eyed man that Godric vaguely recalled to be named Harry looked at Godric with such intensity of anger that the older man almost shut the door on him.

"What in hell's name did you say to Hermione?" Harry growled, and though the boy was almost a head shorter than he, Godric found himself rather nervous.

"I don't know what you mean." He said levelly.

Harry did not seem to pay heed to manners and courtesy, and pushed his way into Godric's room without asking for permission.

"She's been moping around all week, saying she want's to be in Ravenclaw. What did you say to her?"

"I didn't say anything to her." He said stiffly. "She decided for herself that she didn't want to be in my house. I fail to see how it's any of your business."

"She's my best friend." Harry replied coldly. "You upset her, and it's my job to find out what you did."

"Not that it's really anything to do with you, but for your information all that I did was ask a question, to which she greatly over reacted and behaved like the hormonal teenage girl that she is!" The harsh, coldness in his voice shocked him, and he blinked in an effort to take it back. "I didn't mean..."

"It seems you're doing and saying a lot of things you don't mean to recently," Harry said. "Why don't you just leave?"

Godric looked down and sighed. "Tell her I'm sorry." He said, then turned away from Harry, falling onto his bed and staring at the cieling.

"It won't work."

"Then tell her... tell her I... tell her I miss her." The dawning realization came at once, and he suddenly felt a compelling need to run to her rooms and embrace her.

Harry snorted and seemed to consider saying something else. "You know, I don't think the Gryffindor whose sword I found would have sat back and let someone else tell her. If you miss her so much, find a way to tell her yourself. If you can't, then butt out of her life and go home."

The door slammed shut behind him. Godric didn't follow.

--

Perhaps it was Harry barging in that had done it; perhaps he'd just been on the border of realizing it and it just so happened that he realized how much he missed her in Harry's presence; perhaps he had just become so bored of the pattern on the cieling that he had longed to miss her to leave this forsaken room. Whichever route lead to such a realization, at the same time came the knowledge that he could not sit there and berate his loss for the rest of his time there. He remained firmly convinced that he should remain for his sister's revenge, and refused to accept the offer of returning home - after a week sat alone in his room, wondering if he ought just to return home, he knew the answer more clearly than ever; any revenge was better than none, and to him, loyalty to his family constitued vengeance of their deaths - yet still he recognized the fact he needed her company - he craved it and longed for it. In hopelessness, he walked down the deserted corridors, listening to his feet echo in the darkness of the night. He didn't really know where he was going, but allowed his feet to carry him along, not really considering that he might run into anyone. As it was, when he collided with a soft, warm, small figure, he felt as though he was fast becoming the most idiotic of fools. When that figure fell to the floor and he looked at her, he recognised the hair and slim figure almost instantly, and felt his heart beat faster in his chest.

"Hermione!" He breathed, elation breaking out in every syllable. "I'm so glad to see you!"

He pulled her to her feet, letting her steady herself against him by grabbing his biceps. She looked at the floor, apparently trying to avoid his gaze. Godric looked at the side of her head, then lifted a hand to her face, twisiting it ever so gently to look at him, before pressing his lips to hers. She seemed to freeze in his arms, but she did not pull away, which to him answered the most important question; he did not repulse her. He moved his lips lightly against hers, placing a hand behind her head, one arm sliding around her waist. It felt like an eternity before she reacted, but when she did, her lips moved with his, causing such a flood of exhilaration that he felt compelled to never let her go. Her arms slid around his neck, and he pulled her flush against him, savouring the warmth of her body and the feel of her lips on his.

"Godric..." she murmured quietly against his lips, "you shouldn't be..."

"Shhh," he hushed, capturing her mouth again lightly. "We can talk later."

For once, she didn't argue the logical point that at any moment Professor Snape might walk along the corridors to find her kissing a complete stranger, and nor did she argue the point that one of them needed to apologize... for the latter, she reasoned, this was apology enough. They stood for several minutes, wrapped around each other with their mouths locked together passionately. At some point he managed to manoevre them so that her back was pressed against the wall, his hands bracing himself on either side of her. Her gentle hands roamed his back, warming him from the insides as she ran over the strong muscles his shirt covered. He pulled his mouth back from hers and whispered lightly in her ear.

"Maybe we should move from here.."

She smiled, kissing her way down his jaw and neck before nodding in affirmation. "Ok..." she murmured, pushing him gently back and taking his hand in hers with a winning smile. He smiled back, leading her along the corridors quickly, not wanting to wait any longer than he needed to before he could kiss her again.

--

There was scarcely a moment between shutting the door and the initiation of another hot kiss. This time, it was his back against the wall, and Hermione ground against him in a manner he would never have foreseen from her. A lustful, feral growl escaped his lips and his arms wound around her waist crushing her into his body and making her whimper. Something stirred in him at that moment, something that felt both sinful and wonderful at the same time. He pulled his mouth from hers and looked at the floor, guilt and wonderment washing over him.

"What's wrong?" She asked, confusion wiping away the warm glow in her eyes.

"You're seventeen..." he said softly. "It'd be like... sleeping with your teacher."

"What teacher of mine is thirteen years older?" She whispered. "How many times are we going to have this conversation? I'm not that young. I'm definitely not innocent by any means."

He looked at her then, sorrow plain in his expression. "If this happens... if we happen... how can I go home? How can I leave you here?"

She blinked, stroking his cheek lightly. "I don't know. I don't care. Right now, all I want is this. Don't argue with me," she said sternly, "I'm not in the mood for another fight. I like you. You can do as you wish - if you truly want to fight Voldemort then I have no right to stop you. It's your decision." She kissed his lips chastely, savouring his taste. "I've been thinking about you all week, and it's been eating away at me that I said what I did... It's your life. It might be that your meant to fight him... I trust your judgement... And I don't feel ashamed to be in Gryffindor at all." She looked at him with a smug, seductive smile. "In fact I'm rather exhilarated at the prospect of having Gryffindor in me."

Godric gulped, looking at her with a dry mouth and lustful eyes. "Are you sure that's a good idea? I don't think you should just jump for me. In fact, you should really be on the way back to your rooms. It would be improper for me to do anything with you if I plan to see you again... and there is no way that we can be married so that this won't seem like some sordid and illicit affair."

Hermione bit her lip, then giggled at him helplessly. He frowned.

"What's funny?" He ground out, feeling slightly insulted. "I'm trying to be a gentleman!"

She laughed harder, resting her head against his chest as her eyes filled with tears of laughter.

"I don't think..."

"Godric, we're not in your time anymore. These days its perfectly fine for a woman to spend the night with a man. And no, we won't be getting married." She covered her mouth to stop another giggle escaping her lips.

He looked at her, slightly gobsmacked, then said, "aren't you a virgin?" The question blurted out of his mouth before he could word it tactfully, and the next moment he opened and closed his mouth in hopelessness.

Hermione smirked, then leant up, whispering in his ear. "No... I'm not."

He stiffened, his hands gripping her waist tight. "You're not...?"

"Why are you so shocked? Are you?" The smirk on her face ignited something and he looked down at her with heated eyes.

"No. I'm not. But I'm a man. You on the other hand..."

"Surely," Hermione said softly, "if you aren't a virgin, then you must have slept with a woman, and so it shouldn't be such a shock that women have had sex."

He searched for a clever comeback, but could not find one. He looked down at her, feeling rather riled.

She smirked again. "Have I outsmarted you?" She asked innocently.

He grinned. "No, Hermione, you haven't outsmarted me." He grabbed her suddenly, pulling her roughly against him and plunging his tongue into her mouth. She grasped his shirt helplessly, whimpering loudly. He smiled into the kiss, then pulled her head back slightly, not all too gently. Smiling into her eyes, he said quietly, "I want you, Hermione. And as for you not being a virgin... it just means you get to amuse me, instead of my constantly entertaining you."

--

There was a flurry of discarded clothing marking their path towards his bed, and by the time they fell down on it they wore nothing but their undergarments. Hermione whimpered underneath him as he ground against her, rubbing an agreeably well sized bulge into her thigh. His mouth peppered a trail down her neck and shoulderbone, his muscular arms encircling her tightly, leaving her with a mixed feeling of belonging and of being safe. His lips left tingles on the surface of her skin, and the pool of warmth between her legs seemed to grow with every touch. His fingers brushed lightly over her side, sliding down to her thigh and tracing intricate patterns on her youthful skin.

"How does it feel?" He whispered softly.

"Mmmmm..." she murmured, "how does what feel?"

"This." He kissed her neck, sucking lightly on the skin and smiling at her gasp. "Being underneath me... being wet for me... being mine for the night?"

"Yours?" She whispered.

"How does it feel?" He repeated, ignoring her question.

"It feels..." she closed her eyes and sighed. "It feels incredible..."

He smirked, tongueing her ear lightly. "Good."

His hand slid to her hips, toying with the fabric of her lacy knickers. "You're an angel," he whispered softly. "A beautiful, gorgeous, angel." Between each word he kissed her face, the last word leaving a small kiss on her lips. "My beautiful Sunrise..." he lifted his hips slightly, moving her knickers down her legs.

"Mine..."

Godric threw them aside, one arm reaching round to unclasp the odd fastening on her bra. He didn't care for the difference to the traditional corsets he was used to - the garment was in his way, and it had to come off.

"Mine," he said softly, cupping her breasts in his hands and kissing each one in turn.

She moaned his name softly, then met his eyes, her hands sliding into his hair. "Mine?" She questioned softly.

He nodded slowly. "Yours," he replied. She kissed him heatedly.

--

**SEX**

**SEX**

**SEX**

**Lemon time next time I think...**

**so review...**

**Or I might pack it in.**

**Mage of the Heart**


	9. Need To Feel

I dont own any of the Harry Potter characters

**I dont own any of the Harry Potter characters**

**Warning: MA rated**

**Not for minors...**

**You might want to skip until the bottom if you don't like lemons.**

**--**

It seemed odd to Godric that after only a few heated kisses and mere weeks of knowing each other they were falling into bed naked, making declarations of ownership on each other that should have come many months later. Perhaps it was fate, perhaps it was meant to be, or perhaps both of them realized that at any day he might somehow return home. Either way, as his hands slid over her body, caressing every inch of skin that he could reach, he felt so at peace, so completely exhilerated, that the mere idea of anything existing outside of this room was almost unthinkable.

"Are you sure this is acceptable?" he murmured against her lips, eyes half-lidded. She smiled into the kiss, sliding her tongue out to trace his upper lip.

"I'm positive," she whispered. She kissed him again, enjoying the lightheaded sensation that came with it.

"If you're right," he said quietly, "then perhaps you could do me the honour of removing this forsaken entrapment that I'm wearing."

Hermione giggled, pulling back and glancing down at him, feeling a rush of excitement at the sight of the black silken boxer shorts. "I don't think they need to come off just yet," she said seriously, rubbing her hips upwards slightly. He gulped, feeling himself harden even more at the suggestive manner in which she ground against him. "You're not even at full mast yet." The smirk on her face was enough to force the most mild of men to relinquish control of their passion; for Godric, who could only be described as hot headed, it drove him mad with lust and his mouth crashed to hers, his hips shifting slightly sideways to allow his fingers access to her. He ran his index finger lightly up and down both thighs, delighting in her responses of gasps and moans. Only when he himself was desperate to feel her did he slide a finger into her, elliciting a gasp that sent shivers of arousal up and down his spine. Gently, and excruciatingly slowly in Hermione's opinion, he thrust his finger in and out, enjoying the slightly squelchy sound that came from it. His mouth moved from hers as she feverishly tried to grind her hips upwards, whilst attempting to plunge her tongue deep into his mouth. Instead of kissing her, he placed his mouth beside her left ear, smiling as he spoke to her. "You're all wet..." he murmured softly. "How did that happen?" Hermione whimpered, grasping his head and trying to move him back to her lips, but to no avail. "Patience Hermione," he whispered. "I haven't done this in at least a thousand years... don't you think I should get a say in this?"

"A thousand years?" She hissed. "You still remember it like it was a month ago!"

He smirked, but didn't answer it. "You know what I want to do?" Godric murmured, toying with her breast with one hand, whilst his other slid slowly in and out of her. "I want to make you scream. I want to have you begging for more when the nights through. I want you to come so hard that you pull me over too..."

Hermione moaned loudly at his words, rubbing upwards desperately. "Please Godric..."

"I haven't even started yet," he told her, grinning as he pressed gentle kisses to her collarbone.

"Please... you feel incredible... I need... please... I want... faster..."

He frowned into her neck, knowing she could feel the crinkle of his forehead as he raised his eyebrows.

"When you manage to string together a sentence in proper english, perhaps I can consider consenting to your wishes..." he rubbed her clitoris lightly with his thumb, feeling her body shake in build up to orgasm.

"Yes..." she breathed. "Please, do that again..."

He consented, rubbing her until she was trembling on the very brink, despite his slow pace and apparent lack of enthusiasm. It was then that he removed his hand completely, lifting it to his lips and sucking his thumb gently. "You taste good..." he said, raising his hand as though it were a glass and he were toasting her. "So good I feel rather guilty keeping you all to myself..." He brought a glistening finger to her lips, tracing them lightly with the very tip of it. "Try some," he murmured, "you'll like it..."

She wasn't surprised when her whole body started to tremor; his voice was silken yet husky, filled with arousal and command, yet holding a touch of politeness that seemed to reflect his noble upbringing. Her whole body was beyond her control, and all she could see was him; she felt as though she were flying above the bed, only him and her in existance, wrapped in a cocoon of complete bliss as her orgasm washed over her... When she came down, her tongue traced her own lips lightly, cleaning the glistening liquid timidly.

"How is it?" He whispered, pressing his hips to hers, feeling her pulsing heat through the silky material of his boxers. "What does it taste like?"

"It's salty," she murmured quietly. Godric nodded slowly.

"Do you want more?" he queried, smiling down at her with heat in his eyes. In answer, she twisted her head, capturing his finger and sucking it into her mouth. He groaned aloud, closing his eyes in bliss as her tongue traced him. "Have you ever sucked a man, Hermione?" She moaned in the affirmative.

"Did you like it?"

Another moan; Yes.

He smiled licking her earlobe lightly before whispering. "Do you want to suck me?"

She let out a loud, gutteral exclamation of pleasure and began to thrash around beneath him again. He stilled her, holding her down as her breathing slowed again. "Go on then..."

She didn't need any more invitation than that. She flipped them over so that she was straddling his hips as he lay flat on his back, gazing up at her swaying breasts as she leant forward to kiss him lightly on the lips. "How far?" She murmured.

His eyes glistened. "As far as you want." He pressed his mouth to hers again, then lay back, resting his head on the pillow and watching as she slid down his body, kissing her way down his lightly haired chest and well toned stomach. He closed his eyes as her hair began to tickle his skin, feeling her hands hook under the waistband of his boxers and slide them down his legs. Biting back a smug grin at the mixture of gasp and moan that came from her mouth when she saw his organ, he opened his eyes and watched.

Her eyes were slightly wide, mouth open a little, her tongue tracing the outline of her lips as she anticipated the wonderful feeling of having him inside her. He was magnificent; she had been with three men before, all of whom had had organs of average size, all within an inch of each other. Godric's was larger than all of them, and for her part she was glad she was not a virgin; the idea of having that break her maidenhead would quite probably have scared her to death. As it was, he stood at full length, about nine inches long, with a bulbous head that was daunting yet alluring at the same time. Almost reverently, she pressed her lips to the tip, licking lightly at the crown and revelling in the power that she experienced as he shook for her. One hand gripped his length lightly, the other moved to his testicles, caressing them gently. He groaned, then sat up as she began to move her hand on his shaft. "Wait," he said softly, reaching for the bedside table and grabbing his wand. He waved it at her and felt the cool jelly like substance on her hand instantly. She frowned at him.

"You had lubricants?" She asked, slightly shocked.

He grinned. "I made them sweetheart. There's no need to get a friction burn every time a witch lays hand to me. It's better this way."

She frowned. Better for him, maybe, but it reminded her distinctly of dipping her hand in vaseline; it felt unnatural. He pulled her face to him and kissed her softly. "Trust me, I'll make it worth your while when you're done..."

The promise was an enticing one, and as he lay back down, she began to slide her hand slowly up and down, feeling him pulse under her touch as she opened and closed her hand in slight butterfly motions. He sighed in pleasure, watching her as she focused her eyes on his. She was beautiful, he thought, smiling at her. She smirked, a dirty look in her eyes that sent arousal shooting through him, before opening her mouth and sliding it over his head. He groaned, his hands wrapping in her hair and pushing her down on him until she met her own hand. He could feel the smile on her lips as she bobbed up and down, her hand and mouth following the same pattern, meeting each other as she sucked him into her mouth.

She was bloody good, Godric reflected. It may well have been a long time since he had last been in this situation, but he was certain that this was the best he'd ever recieved. There was a slight popping noise as she pulled away, and he looked down, attempting to hide his distress.

"What are you...?" But the question died on his lips as she proceeded to lick from base to tip, sucking his balls lightly and brushing her lips against the hot, blood-engorged skin.

"Merlin's ball sack..." Godric sighed.

"No," Hermione murmured, kissing his tip again. "Your ball sack."

He pushed her mouth down on him again and smirked. "Don't talk with your mouthful."

She giggled, the vibrations of her mouth sending pleasure coursing through his veins. He held her there, not letting her move, feeling her tongue flick at him as he attempted to control himself. It was pointless.

Hermione angled her mouth, taking him as deep as she could, but nowhere near as deep as she wanted, and letting out a soft moan as he moved her up and down on him again, his head hitting the back of her throat. She bit back her gag reflex, sucking lightly on him, then smiling inwardly as he stilled, stiffening for her.

"Hermione... you shouldn't..." He didn't have the time to finish; her hand squeezed his testicles again and he let out a feral growl of utter bliss as his orgasm washed over him, shooting into her mouth with complete helplessness. He felt her swallowing him, could feel the muscles of her throat as they contracted and relaxed, then pulled her up towards him, kissing her gently. "That was... incredible, to say the least."

She smiled. "I try my best." She peppered his neck with kisses. "And besides," she murmured, "I had an ulterior motive."

Godric smirked. "That you did." He pulled her against his chest and grinned, closing his eyes. "Goodnight Sunrise."

He could feel her glaring at him, but kept his eyes closed, resting his head on hers and pretending to yawn. She seemed to look at him for several moments, before speaking rather stiffly. "What about my reward?"

Kissing her forehead, he said, "later. I'm tired."

"You said when I was done," she pointed out.

He shrugged. "You wore me out. Take it as a compliment, not many women have managed it."

"Your stamina is rather laughable then."

He ground his teeth; truly, he should have seen that one coming. "Not at all Hermione; their's was just minimal."

She made an annoyed noise, rolling out of his embrace in an attempt to allure him. He rolled his eyes and pulled her back.

"Close your eyes and go to sleep." He whispered, draping his arm over her waist. "The sooner you sleep, the sooner we'll get back to it."

She bit back a retort, then sighed and snuggled closer to him, pressing her lips to his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath her mouth.

"It won't work," he grinned.

"Mmm... I am tired actually..."

He nodded. "Go to sleep."

--

He waited half an hour, till he was certain she had drifted off, and her light, regulated breathing met his ears. Smirking to himself, he hugged her, then rolled her slightly so that she was on her back. Godric slid down her body, careful to avoid contact until he reached her legs, which he parted, taking in the view of her body with utter delight. The light curls that covered her modestly were kept trim, something he rather liked; there was no need for there to be a bush the size of a forest - she was still slightly wet, if the glistening of her womanhood was anything to go by. With a small smirk, he pressed his mouth to her, flicking his tongue out slowly, tasting the saltiness that he had only sampled earlier on. With gentle movements, he lifted her thighs over his shoulder, probing his tongue deeper in a fluid movement. There was a slight increase in her breathing and he grinned against her, using his tongue expertly to make her body quake. Her clit was hard, and he flicked at it lightly. It was then that Hermione seemed to wake, her loud utterring of shock and pleasure a mixture between shriek and moan. He didn't stop, listening to her heavy breathing and delighting in the knowledge that he was about to fulfill his promise, while sliding a long digit into her, loving the feel of her around him. He ran his tongue languidly over her, then nibbled her clit lightly. He smirked, just as Hermione felt the world shatter around her, her cries of pleasure echoing around the room.

--

Needless to say, waking up to find a handsome, intelligent, well endowed and incredible lover of a man between her thighs was one of the betters experiences of coming out of sleep. At first, she had considered that she was still dreaming, and that it was a very good dream, but the sensations that met her were so incredible that she had snapped her eyes open, watching as Godric lapped at her so needily. She hadn't had much experience with recieving oral sex - her previous lovers had all seemed averse to it - yet she was certain that there were few men who could bring her to climax mere seconds after she awoke. Admittedly, her body may well have been being built up for many minutes before she noticed, yet the smug look on his face as he pulled away and licked his lip told him that he was more than used to this.

"I'm ready," he grinned, indicating the erection between his legs. Her amber eyes went dark with lust, a violent need for him coursing through her body.

He came towards her on the bed, holding himself up on his arms, her legs now dropped to his sides. "The question is, are you?"

She couldn't begin to piece a sentence together - the whimper that escaped her lips was answer enough. Without waiting he slid into her, holding her close as he thrust deep, hitting her with long, hard strokes that tore gasps from her mouth.

"You feel amazing," he gasped in her ear, biting her neck gently as he continued to stroke into her, his pace increasing gradually, listening for her utterances to decipher how she liked it; from the moans and urges she uttered, she didn't like it at all - she loved it.

"Yes..." she whispered softly, "Godric... oh gods... harder, please... I want you... all of you.."

"Shhh..." he murmured. "You'll get it... I promise, you'll get everything you need."

Her hips ground into his, causing his eyes to roll back in his head. She met his eyes with pleading, and he growled, slamming into her with such force that she let out a whimper with every thrust. It felt incredible. He couldn't remember ever feeling so good in his lifetime. She was whimpering for him, and she felt better than any man had ever made her feel. He was everything a man should be; he was demanding, strong, forceful, yet somehow still compassionate. Somehow she knew that he was listening out, waiting for the slightest sign of discomfort to slow down again. He didn't have to; she'd never been so close to orgasm from simple penetration, and it felt indescribably fantastic.

He thrust into her, ridding her of the desperate need for him as he throbbed into her, but instead took her to some other place, a place where he was giving her everything, and yet she ached for that release. "I want to come..." she shrieked, "Oh gods please, make me come... I can't... it feels so good.."

He shushed her, one hand grasping her breast, pulling hard on the nipple and forcing yet another exclamation from her beautiful mouth.

He slid into her tightness over and over, feeling it wet and hot around him, groaning and hissing in abandonment, loving the feeling of utter divinity that washed over him as he did so.

"You want this don't you?" He gasped. "You want me sliding in and out of you like there's no tomorrow, telling you how hot I am for you, how tight you are, how good you make me feel..."

She didn't even need to answer. The bliss that ripped through her at his words was enough to show him exactly what she thought; torrents of pleasure overcame her as she thrashed around in his arms. He stilled, holding her against him as he waited for her to come down, feeling the sweat of their bodies mixing.

"Hermione..." he said, "we forgot the charm... against children."

"No, you did," she said softly, rolling him over onto his back. "I have a potion. I take it every day." She smirked, straddling him and sliding up and down his length repeatedly, "So I can do this, as many times as I want."

He smiled at her, stroking her cheek lazily and letting her do as she pleased, enjoying her movement above him. "I'm glad," he murmured. He waited several moments, then said quietly. "You're perfect." She stilled, looking at him with a soft smile that reached her eyes.

"Thank you..."

"Don't thank me," he said, "thank your parents."

She smiled, moving again, slower this time, talking to him softly. "I'd rather thank you. You're much more enjoyable."

He grinned. "I do try my best." He sat up, kissing her breasts gently, his breathing slightly ragged. "I'm afraid that I'm going to come." He told her quietly.

"That's alright," she grinned. "You've earnt it."

Smirking, he slid a hand in between them. "That I have... but I refuse to release without you."

He stroked her clit firmly, running his thumb in circles around it, then letting out a groan of pleasure as she tightened around him and he felt her gush. It was seconds before he was pulled over too, his release milked from him. They sat for several moments, Godric's arms around her waist as she kissed him lovingly. A tingling sensation overcame him, and he pulled her down to lie with him, loving how her head came to rest on his chest. His lips found her cheek and he whispered against it before placing a gentle kiss there. "I don't want to go home."

Hermione felt tears prick at her eyes. "No... nor do I."

--

The pounding of fists on the door woke Godric, sending ripples of annoyance through him as he attempted to bury his face in Hermione's neck and block out all other sounds. It didn't really bother him that someone unnamed was knocking at his door, when the room was supposed to be out of use. In fact, the only thing that bothered him was that his peaceful sleep had been interrupted, and now he was clearly expected to answer the door.

"Come back later!" He called, nuzzling Hermione's neck as she began to stir.

"WHERE THE HELL IS HERMIONE!" Harry's unwelcome voice drifted under the door and Godric groaned. At a glance, he saw Hermione shaking her head vigorously.

"I'm not here!" She mouthed. He grinned, nodding, then called back.

"I have no idea. What on earth makes you think I'd know?"

"She was coming to see you! Where the hell is she? I know she wouldn't have gone off without telling anyone!"

Godric closed his eyes, counting slowly to ten in an effort to control himself. "If she was here, don't you think I'd know about it?"

"If she's not there, then why don't you open the bloody door!"

"Because I sleep in the nude!" He snapped back angrily, "and I'd rather not flaunt myself to you!"

"Put some clothes on then!" Harry yelled.

Godric hissed angrily. "Why does it matter whether I come to the door or not? Hermione is not here! And if you're looking for her, you're doing a god-awful job!"

"If she's not in there come to the door!" A silence stretched between them. "Come to the door or I'll blast it from its bloody hinges whether you're naked or not!"

Godric looked at Hermione helplessly, begging silently for some help from her. She looked at a complete loss.

"One!" Godric searched frantically for his wand, seeing it on the table.

"Two!" It was just out of his reach, a few inches away as he struggled to stretch over without dislodging Hermione.

"Three!" His fingers grasped the wooden handle, just as the door burst open. Godric looked at the doorway, wand held aloft, thankfully covered by the duvet of the bed. Hermione curled in embarassment against his side, blushing bright red as Harry stared gobsmacked at the scene before him.

"I thought you said she wasn't here!" He managed when he had recovered a little.

Godric looked down at the blushing woman next to him and shrugged. "I lied. Now would you mind? We're rather busy, as you can probably see!"

Harry glared at him. "You're not busy! You're a bloody pervert I'll give you that, but there's no way your busy!"

"Then why, Mr I-Know-All-And-Have-A-Wand-Up-My-Rear-That-Makes-Me-Feel-Brave, is she flushing red like a tomato?" Godric raised an inquisitive eyebrow, then grinned. "Get out of my bedroom before I throw you out please. I'm rather enjoying my breakfast." He threw a sly wink at Hermione, then looked back at the bespectacled boy before him.

"You can't just..."

"Harry!" Hermione squeaked. "Please leave! I'm fine. I'm not drugged. I'm not a prisoner... I am however naked and not in a particularly fantastic mood with you as of the moment you woke me from a very wonderful dream!" At this she smiled at Godric, as though he knew exactly what she meant. He blinked, looking slightly bewildered, then grinned at Harry.

"Need a hand out?"

Harry stared at them, shaking his head. "Please tell me you didn't...?"

"Yes, we did." Godric said smugly, "and if you stick around much longer you're in for a repeat performance. It's two galleons to watch though."

Harry looked as though he might be sick, fleeing the room looking distinctly pale. Hermione smiled at Godric, then indicated the door. "Can you fix that?"

"Sure..." He waved his wand and the broken splinters of wood fitted themselves back together. Kissing her lightly, he let his hand trail down her body.

"Did you mean what you said about a repeat?" She giggled.

He smirked. "Well, if you put your hand a little lower, you'll see how up for it I am..."

--

An hour later, they were tangled together in post-coital bliss, sweaty limbs wrapped around the other as the sweat from their touching foreheads mixed.

"Who was your first?" Godric asked quietly. "Was it that pubescent fool who seems to chase after you like some kind of hound?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Harry?"

"Whatever his name is..."

"No.. it wasn't Harry. It was a boy I know back home."

Godric nuzzled her neck gently. "Did he hurt you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Only a little."

He kissed her cheek. "You know, if he did, I could kill him... nobody would know it was me. They think I'm dead." He gave her a small grin.

She sighed and stroked his collarbone with her finger, very lightly, "you know it wouldn't make any difference to him, because he was a Muggle, and didn't know you existed." She smiled. "He thinks I go to private school as well..."

"A Muggle?" Godric said, frowning. "Are you Muggleborn?"

She nodded, meeting his eyes. "I thought you knew that."

"I didn't..." he said softly, but shrugged anyway. "How big?"

"Excuse me?" Hermione laughed in shock, drawing back ever so slightly.

"How big was he?" Godric queried, stroking her hair.

She shook her head. "I don't think I can disclose that information."

"Fine. Was he bigger than me?"

"No."

"Good." He kissed her nose. "Was he better?"

"No."

A wide grin spread over his face. "Thats my girl."

"Who was yours?" Hermione asked, a smug smile on her lips.

Godric froze. "Well... I... it was... a long time ago... I don't really... remember..."

"Was it Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff?" Hermione asked. He blinked.

"Are you implying that I had sex with Rowena or Helga?" He asked, feeling rather uncomfortable.

"That would be the general assumption if you lost your virginity to them, yes."

"Well, it was niether of them, thankfully. It was the healer at the infirmary down the road. I went in for stitches, and came out with... well..." he smirked. "Satisfied?"

Hermione blushed. "I didn't need the details."

"I didn't give you details." He grinned. "I just gave you an anecdote." He rolled onto her with a smile. "Have I told you recently that you're beautiful?"

"Yes. You did. Several times." She kissed the corner of his mouth lightly.

"Oh... well... I meant it."

She blushed. "Thank you. You're gorgeous too."

"Hang on, I never said you were gorgeous!" He dodged her playful slap and pinned her down, lightly possessing her mouth before his stomach grumbled loudly. Hermione giggled.

"Someone's hungry..."

"Someone used up all my energy!"

--

**Well ...?**

**Mage of the Heart**


	10. Do You Love Me?

I dont own any of the Harry Potter characters

**I dont own any of the Harry Potter characters**

**--**

Godric awoke to the feel of Hermione's lips pressed gently to his, at which he released a soft growl of lust, his hand tangling itself into her curled hair, holding her close to him as he savoured the brief moments of delight, before pulling back and smiling lightly into her eyes.

"I do hope I get this rude awakening every morning Sunrise," he whispered softly, lightly nipping at her ear and sliding his lips lightly over her jaw.

"You will.." she told him breathlessly, hand rubbing the back of his head. "Every morning that you stay here..."

Godric stilled himself, pulling back and looking at her seriously. "How long do you want me to stay here?"

"How long do you want to stay?"

He shifted, pulling her into his chest and letting her head rest on his slowly rising chest. "Forever," he said honestly. "Would that be alright?"

She sniffed, nodding and burying her face in his chest, her lips pressing gently into his skin. "Yes..." she whispered. "I want you to stay forever too."

Tilting her head up to meet his eyes, he spoke in a soft voice that was barely audible. "Then I will." He promised, his only thought that he couldn't bear to be parted from her. The timeline was insignificant, and his possible future did not mean anything to him; as far as he was concerned, his future lay right here, in the arms of his Sunrise.

"You can't..." she said tearily. "You have to go home, back where you belong..."

He pressed his lips to her head. "You're where I belong... right now, nothing else matters. I doubt it ever will."

"Don't say that..." she whispered. "You'll make it harder when you have to go."

"I'm not going." He said quietly. "Not in your lifetime. I'll stay here, with you. I don't care about where I come from, where you think I should be... I know where I belong."

"Godric," she whispered, pressing her face into his neck through her tears. "If you never go back, you'll never have children. And if you never have children, then the lives of people now won't exist.. which means we will never meet... which means..."

"Which means nothing." Godric insisted. "Here and now... that's all I care about. Right now, we're together. You're here with me, which in my eyes is the only thing worth considering."

"But I could be your... great great great great great great grand-daughter for all you know!"

Godric chuckled, pressing his lips lightly to her neck and whispering into her skin. "Now you're just being silly," he informed her. "You told me yourself you're muggleborn... couldn't possibly be my relation... and if you were... well it'd be very," he kissed her jaw, "very," another kiss, "very distant... and naughty..." the last word passed between his lips as a husky, dirty whisper, and she whimpered involuntarily, gripping his back tightly.

"Godric... I think..."

"Shh," he whispered. "You think too much!"

"I'm just... I don't..."

He pulled back and sighed, stroking her cheek gently. "I like you. I like you very much. And whats a thousand years where sex and lust are concerned?"

"Sex and lust?" Hermione replied distastefully. "Is that what you think this is?"

He grinned. "I think," Godric replied, "that they are the basic foundations for any relationship, and so, yes, that's what this is.. for now at least." He kissed her forehead gently. "That doesn't mean," he murmured, "that I see you as a plaything; you are much more than that to me."

"What am I to you?" Hermioned asked, her hand tracing between his pectorals lightly.

Godric's smirk spoke volumes. "You're my Sunrise." He frowned, then asked. "What am I to you?"

"Mmm..." she murmured, rubbing her nose into his chest. "You're my sextoy."

He pinched her waist sharply, laughing as she shrieked. "Be honest," he implored, stroking her back and holding her against him.

"I don't know..." Hermione said impishly.

He raised an eyebrow. "You don't know? Or you don't want to tell me?"

"I... well.. you're... it's hard to say.."

"Am I you're friend?" He asked.

"No."

"Enemy?"

"No."

"Well that's a relief... am I your friend with benefits?"

"You mean officially?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"No.. what do you see me as?"

She blushed at him. "I guess... I see you as my boyfriend... without the long dating spell..." Godric smiled goofily, unable to hided his ridiculous wave of happiness.

"Really?" He grinned from ear-to-ear.

"Definitely."

He kissed her soundly, then muttered, "I see you as my boyfriend too."

She hit him, and he laughed, rolling onto her and softly pressing kisses into her collarbone. "You know you're a beautiful young man... I can't believe the women manage to keep their hands off of you..."

"You're disgusting." Hermione groaned.

"I'm dirty," Godric corrected, smiling. "And particularly proud of it."

She sighed and kissed the end of his nose gently. "I'm not... though I like your nose..."

He frowned, then shook his head, chuckling. "That's because you know exactly what my nose can do to you..." His eyes danced with mischief and she blushed, giggling.

"Later," she said, "we have to go and see Dumbledore now."

"About what?" Godric complained, pinning her down and looking at her dejectedly. "I don't want to go anywhere today Mummy, I want to stay home and eat you up!" He growled and attacked her neck. Hermione laughed, but shoved him off.

"That, would be seriously wrong."

"Well..." Godric shrugged, "who wants to be right, when being wrong feels so..." he seemed to search for the words, his eyes glinting as he whispered, "naughty!"

She shivered, pulling herself from the bed and shaking her head at him. "You're incorrigible." She muttered, pulling on her clothes and scourgifying them quickly.

Godric stood up, waving his own wand and letting his clothes fall on his body. "You'll see just how incorrigible I can be tonight. Mark my words."

Hermione smirked. "I look forward to it."

--

Godric was disillusioned as they walked along the corridors, despite it being a sunny day, meaning that all those who were not labouring over homework were enjoying the uncharacteristically warm day that came in late November. They walked silently, his arm draped over her shoulder; though she wished desperately to respond and wrap her arms around him, she attempted to walk as though there was nobody beside her - it would not do for Snape to round the corner and question why she walked as though she were dancing with a ghost, after all.

"You look delicious," he whispered in an undertone. She could feel his breath on her neck and she felt a delightful shiver ripple through her.

"Thank you," she muttered from the corner of her mouth. "I'd like to say the same, but unfortunately I can't see you."

"Well my dear," he whispered softly, "I'm sure I can prove how perfect YOU look, without you having to see me..." his hand slid up her top, a rather peculiar sensation given that she could not see him; it felt rather like she were having water poured over the slight crevice of her back- his hands were slightly chilled, and sent repeating shivers through her whole body.

"I don't think that would be considered normal..."

"Normals a word we use to disguise the majority's faults, Sunrise. If people disagree with me fucking you while invisible, I propose that it is them, not me, that suffers a problem." She couldn't see him, but could hear the smug smile in his voice. His hand slid higher, resting lightly below her bra clasp. "If someone saw your back at this moment, you'd look awfully hunchbacked my dear... perhaps you should simply remove the offending garment and save them the speculation?" His voice was heated and suggestive, and she let a small whimper pass her lips.

"Stop it..." she managed. "We'll be there soon."

He chuckled deeply and she felt his hand undo the clasp with ease. She was about to snap at him, her arms darting round to her back to re-do the attachment, when Snape swept around the corner. She was positive that the blush on her cheeks turned her purple.

"Miss Granger," Snape said, with a sweeping glance at her unorthodox position, "perhaps you will remember to appropriately dress yourself before venturing from your Head Girls quarters next time?"

"Who's that?" Godric whispered from beside her. His hand had fallen from her and his voice came from behind her.

"Professor Snape..." Hermione managed, half as an exclamation, half as an answer to Godric's question. "I just... it was an accident... I was... my top... it.."

"Perhaps if your wardrobe is causing you such a problem, you should re-evaluate it..." Smirking wickedly, he flourished his wand, turning her blouse into a baggy black t-shirt that hung to her mid-thight. "At least there shall be no obvious lack of support with such a top." He turned, sweeping from view, his black robes billowing. Hermione stared at the space which he had previously occupied and flushed red. Without warning, her blouse re-appeared, replacing the baggy black top Professor Snape had bestowed on her. At the same time, she felt her clasp reattach itself. She felt some of the anger at him ebbing away, though she felt the remainings of her anger burning strongly.

"I dislike him." Godric murmured into her ear, his arms wrapping around her waist as he pressed his mouth against her skin. "And the way he looks at you." His tongue flicked out against her cheek. "And the way he forces you to dress." He tickled her waist lightly, and she felt every little bit of anger dissipate into nothingness.

"We're late..." she sighed, trying to tap his invisible hands, it seemed as though she hit his forearms, but he let go, pressing a light kiss to her cheek as he pulled back.

"Let's go then I suppose..." he sighed.

"Yes... let's go."

--

Dumbledore sat smiling at the couple over his half-moon spectacles, eyes glinting with happiness and something alike to mischief. Godric met Dumledore's gaze with a pleading look the moment Hermione sat down, and the old man seemed to understand from that his exact meaning; their prior conversation was to remain a secret. They sat holding hands subconsciously, and Dumbledore made no notion to discourage them- indeed, if it were possible, he seemed to be positively thrilled at their newfound closeness.

"I have news of Voldemort," he said gravely, noting the couples differing expressions. Hermione's face showed fear, horror and apprehension - all the signs of a woman who had grown up to fear the horrors of that name. Godric's face spoke of determination and vengeance without so much as a trace of fear. "It appears," Dumbledore continued, "that his army is gathering strength. Several of our own supporters have been reported missing and dead, whilst others have publicly spoken of their loyalties to him."

Hermione gasped and Godric frowned. "You mean they're cowards?" Godric said distastefully.

Dumbledore shook his head, his long silver beard rippling slightly. "I mean, my dear boy, that they swear allegiance as an act of protection over the ones that they love. It is the supreme act of love, you will find."

"It's an act of cowardice." Godric retorted, jaw set. "If any were in Gryffindor I'd..."

He was interrupted by the Professors annoyingly calm voice, which spoke with too much reason, to the point Godric thought the man had overdosed on Gleeful Gin, his favourite form of beverage in his own time. "But my dear Godric, they are mostly in Gryffindor; loyalty to family is above all else in their eyes. Do you not feel as though, if given the choice of your family's death or their safety, you would pick their safety, first and foremost?"

Godric did not miss the slightly smug smirk on Hermione's face, and swore to reprimand her for it later on. "I founded Gryffindor," he growled back, "I know exactly how my House is meant to act. Bravery, above all else."

"And what is bravery?" Dumbledore enquired, as politely as though he were asking about the latest new quill at the local stationery shop.

Godric glared. "There's only one kind of bravery Dumbledore, and I am assured that your intelligence is of such a level you can contemplate its meaning."

"Why my boy, there are many kinds of bravery! The bravery you speak of is the most basic type, based on egotistical ratings of males who deem themselves capable of great deeds, paying little or no attention to others, working merely for ones own self-merit."

Hermione stared at her headmaster. It was very unlike him to make such bold statements of seemingly one-sided nature, when he was most often the peacemaker in such debates. She remained silent, watching events unfold with a great deal of interest.

"There is no self-merit to be gained; it's protection of others!" Godric's tone had risen to one of menace, and his hand gripped Hermione's so tight she thought her bones might splinter and break.

"My dear Godric, you have much yet to be learnt; there will come a time in your life when you put your life on hold, risk everything you hold dear materialistically, to save a person who means a great deal more emotionally. There is no bravery such as the bravery of a mother, for example, willing to throw herself in front of a killing curse for her child." At this, Dumbledore looked at Hermione with a knowing gaze which Godric could not fathom. "None such as the bravery of a man who risks ridicule and hurt to stop his son from being kissed by a Dementor. It is bravery that causes a man to put aside a single person he loves, for the wellbeing of the world..." this knowing look was directed towards Godric, who felt a chill, as though this had something to do with his past... or was it his future? When looked at it from one thousand years on, it seemed odd to think he had much still left to live. In this time, he was dead... it was at that moment that strange and surreal thoughts entered his mind, before Hermione squeezed his hand and brought him back to the present. He looked at her, shook his head in an effort to clear his train of thought, then looked back at Dumbledore.

"Your bravery description is much the same as mine; if a man fights for his people, he fights for his family and friends."

Dumbledore sighed in defeat. "One day, perhaps, you will understand the intricacies of such a complicated emotion."

Godric snorted in reply. "It's uncomplicated. It is simply rare."

"My story continues," the Professor said, suddenly, and without so much as a glance at Godric, he carried on from where he had left off; "several people have been reported missing, others have been found dead, a number of whom are or were members of the Order..."

--

Dumbledore went on for at least an hour, in which Godric remained stubbornly quiet and Hermione asked gently probing questions, in as subtle a way as she seemed to be able to manage. On more than one occasion, she was informed that there was little else to tell, and that the little else was most assuredly confidential until later dates. Godric's attention had waned on more than one occasion, his mind trailing instead to the night before, or the morning that he had just spent entwined with Hermione, though he managed to keep his attention long enough to grasp the basics, and Hermione filled him in on the rest. Voldemort had amassed supporters- more than The Order of the Phoenix (an organization Dumbledore himself had set up to fight back) could have foreseen. The Ministry of Magic was being overtaken, influential people killed or kidnapped, all done so discreetly that they could not catch him at it, but knew it was him. Voldemort was said to be setting his sights on Hogwarts itself, and on one particular boy, who, it turned out, was Hermione's best friend, the bespectacled, messy haired, green eyed, cocky boy who had burst in on them earlier that morning. Dumbledore had filled Godric in on the very basics of Harry's story - how he had survived a Killing Curse at the age of one, and had been fighting Voldemort off ever since he enrolled at Hogwarts school seven years ago. The boy himself could not remember it, and yet he was a celebrity, and believed to be the only person capable of rectifying the mess of their time. Godric was slightly proud to hear that the boys parents were both Gryffindors, and that they died defending their son, though clearly it was the wrong time to express such pride to either Dumbledore or Hermione.

When they left the office, Godric's mind was swimming with thought and wonderings. Hermione watched him with interest, not speaking a word until they were back in his rooms, sat silently on the comfortable mattress.

"What are you thinking?" She asked softly. He shrugged.

"It seems so... unlikely... unreal even."

Hermione nodded in understanding. "Yes... yes it does, even for me..."

Godric looked at her, stroking her cheek gently. "He's your best friend... I can't tell you how sorry I am for you."

She smiled, kissing his hand. "I've known it was going to happen for the last seven years Godric. I just worry that he won't come out of it... that he'll... that I..."

He kissed her lips softly, gently reassuring her. "I'll be here." He assured her. "I promise. Even if something happens to Harry, you'll always have me..." She put her arms around his neck and hugged him, face pressed into his neck as she tried to keep from crying.

"I wish you could be. I really do..." Her voice was strained, almost painful.

"I will be." He promised, hugging her tight against his chest and feeling her heart pound against his.

--

It was a few weeks before Godric returned to see Dumbledore; he was alone this time, as Hermione had classes all afternoon, and the older man seemed to think it best to see him alone. Godric did not ask why, as he had come to find that most of Dumbledore's invitations had a good purpose, which he would explain when and if it was necessary. He sat in the chair opposite Dumbledore, his hand running through his hair as the older man spoke.

"It would seem, Godric, that you stick by your decision to remain here, am I correct?" The blue eyes were piercing and searching, and, after suppressing a shiver, Godric nodded. "In which case," Dumbledore continued, "it seems only fitting that you join the Order itself, rather than remaining behind at school, where you can neither learn anything of your enemy, nor anything of our defence."

Godric blanched, his face draining of colour as he looked at the Headmaster. "Leave?" He asked, his throat dry. "I... what about Hermione?"

"Miss Granger is more than capable of looking after herself, my dear boy. And, on that particularly sensitive topic, I must add that it would not be wise to continue your relationship with her; it will, I'm sure you agree, cause particular difficulty if and when this war rolls by." The Headmasters tone was somber, yet not sympathetic, and Godric felt a dire need to throw something, anything, at the old man, in order to make him see sense.

"I can't not continue!" Godric said bitterly. "I'm happy! _She's_ happy! I care about her! I never have to return to my own time, I can stay here until I'm old and wrinkly!"

"Whilst your ever-so-wonderful choice of words in the presence of an 'old wrinkly' is flattering, I must remind you that you live a thousand years behind the present day, and your return will most definitely be crucial in your own future, and indeed, in the future of wizardkind."

Godric stood up and slammed his fists down on the table. "I don't want to go back!" He roared. "I wish to stay here, with Hermione! My life is mine! Not anyone elses; its not yours to decide where and when I live."

Dumbledore did not sigh in exasperation, nor argue back, or even question Godric's point. Instead he sat and spoke in a gentle voice that was deliberately difficult to decipher. "I cannot stop you from seeing Miss Granger by any means; I merely advise caution. Given the time difference, it would be cruel on both parts if you were to fall in love with her."

The silence that stretched between them spoke volumes to both of them; Dumbledore saw the denial, then the shock, and then the realization that dawned on Godric's face, whilst all number of thoughts were running through Godrics mind.

"Minerva will collect you from your room tomorrow evening." Dumbledore said, breaking the silence and standing slowly and gingerly. "Good afternoon." It was a dismissal, and Godric took it as such, walking dazedly from the room without showing any other sign of acknowledgement.

--

As he descended the stairs and emerged on the other side of the gargoyles, Godric thought desperately about what Dumbledore had said to him. He could not be in love, he told himself, simply because it was so... he frowned. What was it, exactly? Was it wrong? No. There was no way something like his relationship with Hermione was wrong. So was it the age difference that made it impossible? Again, no. They had discussed on more than one occasion their age difference, even their time difference, and niether cared anymore, it was not a neccessity to be of similar age after all. How did you tell whether you were in love with a woman, he thought. Was it in the strange, peculiar, almost fuzzy feeling in his chest when she pressed her lips tenderly to his cheek? Was it the way in which his stomach did flips whenever she smiled at him? Was that even love, or was it simply lust? He thought about her, about waking up beside her for the last few weeks, and feeling so warm, so included, so safe... did that amount to love?

In every book of his time, every work of fiction he had ever read, love was described as being wonderful, warming, delightful... could it be bad to be in love with Hermione?

When he considered it, it was in all likelihood that he truly did love her; he treasured those moments when they lay together after sex, and the way he felt when he awoke to her gentle kisses. He delighted in her voice sounded, in its seductive whisperings, its loud outbursts and exclamations, it's uncontrollable high pitch when he claimed her as his own in the bedroom. The way in which she tickled her own lips with the tip of her quill as she though intrigued and amazed him, more than was normal, he knew. Her kisses sent shivers of delight and warmth through him like no other had, whilst her hand in his felt like a promise, a certainty almost. When she said she wanted him to stay forever, he had never felt so happy, so thrilled. Her hair, with its sometime unruly curls post-sex, fanned out behind her on his pillow, was beautiful. Her eyes were enticing, intriguing, loving, warm...

Did he love her? He asked himself again. In retrospect, he thought, yes, he must do.

--

She was on his bed when he returned from a long walk around the grounds, reading a book so thick he wondered how she managed it. The moment he entered, she looked up and sent him a winning, beautiful, beaming smile, that made his stomach twist and flames of lust lick at him. She returned to her reading, letting him lie down behind her, draping one arm over her hip and supporting his head on his other. His thumb traced absent patterns on the waist of her skirt as he leant to kiss her neck gently, brushing the hair aside and moving his lips over her pulse.

"I'm trying to concentrate..." she murmured quietly, her hand stilling on the book before her.

"Concentrate then," he whispered, lathing the hollow of her collarbone with his tongue. "I'm just entertaining myself."

"You're a distraction." She muttered, attempting to shift her body and pull away from his tempting kisses.

"A distraction you welcome all too easily it would seem..." his hand slid under her blouse and towards her bra, rolling her nipple between his fingers and smiling gently into her skin as her breath caught in her chest.

Hermione shifted backwards, pressing herself into his pelvis and smirking at his sharp intake of air. "You should know by now I give as good as I get," she said quietly, attempting to maintain her intelligent look by reading the page before her. The words passed through her head and straight out again. Unable to concentrate, she closed it and placed it on the bedside table, turning over to face him and stroking his lightly stubbled cheek. "You need a shave," she murmured, grinning at him.

"I need lots of things," he whispered softly. "But the only thing I really want right now, is you..." he pulled her face to his, kissing her softly and gently, in a way that contradicted the fierce lust that he had just seemed to profess.

"Mmm," Hermione murmured in agreement. "I want you too." Her hand slid to his shirt, unbuttoning it slowly and teasingly.

Godric sighed, lightly kissing her nose and shaking his head. "I don't mean like that..." he trailed off, biting his lip and avoiding her eyes as she looked at him searchingly.

"What do you mean then?" She asked, squeezing his bicep reassuringly. The question hung in the air for several moments, and Godric's head swirled with thought, and wonderings of what to say.

"I mean that... I think... I want you."

She raised her eyebrows. "And... you have me. I'm right here aren't I?"

"I don't mean like that." Godric snapped. He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry. I just... maybe want isn't the right word... I do want you like that, obviously... but I want something else too..."

"What something else?" She probed, running a hand through his hair. He caught it, bringing it to his lips and pressing it to them in a light kiss, a brief contact that sent warmth through his very soul.

"I want forever." He said honestly. "I want to see you every day of my life, to wake up to you, to kiss you, to hold you..." He met her eyes and whispered to her. "I want to stay in love, for always. With you."

--

She searched his eyes for what felt like a lifetime, trying to decipher which part of it had been a joke, said in jest to shock her, scare her, worry her maybe. There was nothing. It seemed to her that he was telling the truth, laying out everything he had to offer before her. The realization of what his words actually meant dawned on her, and she tried to stop tears from leaking out of her eyes; he wanted to stay in love, which meant, in no uncertain terms, that he already was. How was that meant to make her feel, she wondered. Was she supposed to feel happy? She did, definitely. It was nice, of course, to know that you were loved... and yet, why did she feel guilty at the same time? Had she been leading him to think that they had a future, that they could ever be more than just lovers while he remained in her time? She knew, instantly, that she had. She'd told him she wished he could stay. She came to him every night, and only after several hours of gentle, comfortable conversation did they go to bed. But at the same time as realizing that she had been leading him on, she realized too that she had fallen just as badly in love with him. Somewhere along the line of lust driven sex and growing friendship, she'd crossed some border, some line between lust and love. Did she feel guilty for loving him, then? No. She felt guilty because she had not told him first; she felt guilty because she knew she never could.

"You can't love me." She told him softly.

The sentence hit Godric like a ton of bricks thrown at his gut. He felt sick, the wind left his body, and all he could do was stare blankly at her, the question of why not hanging unsaid between them.

"I'm not in your time Godric... it's just wrong for me to pretend that we can ever be more than... than just..."

"Just what?" Godric managed to grind out, some form of anger mixed with confusion and hurt brewing in his stomach. "Just fuck buddies?"

Hermione looked at him, pained. "You know that's not what I think of you!" The hurt in her voice twisted his stomach, and Godric shook his head.

"No... I don't think that of you... I just... if I can't be the person you love, why did you call me your boyfriend?" He felt rather good about himself, managing to remember that, but it was quickly replaced with a cold ache in his chest at her reply.

"Because I got lost in the moment! Everyone says things after sex they don't mean! For Merlin's sake Godric, I was just post-sex high!"

Godric stared at her, sitting up on the bed and averting his eyes to the wall instead. "So I'm just a bit of fun, is that it?"

"No! You're my friend! You're... you're..." what could she call him? She'd already denied that they were just 'fuck buddies', and that he was her boyfriend. Lover was too close to love, and anywhere near that word was forbidden at this moment.

"When you look at me," Godric whispered, "how do you feel?" He turned to look at her, his piercing eyes resting on hers, his mouth set, his hair slightly floppy. The honest answer, Hermione thought, was that her heart beat quickened, her stomach twisted, her knees went weak and her head went light.

"I'm attracted to you," she said shrugging. "That's obvious, because I'm sleeping with you. There's nothing else."

"Really?" Godric asked, apparently unconvinced.

"Yes." Hermione looked away for several moments, then said. "How do you feel when you look at me then?"

Caught off guard, Godric debated whether he should answer or avoid the question. Yet avoiding it seemed like such an incredible waste. He loved her, and even if the feeling wasn't mutual, or if she scorned him afterwards, he needed to tell her, to show her exactly how he felt for her.

"Right now?" He asked softly.

"Yes." She sat up, sitting on her ankles and looking at him, sat on the opposite side of the bed.

"I get cold," He said softly, "because I'm not holding you. I get goosebumps when you're smiling at me; my head's light, my heart's racing, my palms are sweaty... I'm worried you'll walk out that door and I'll never see you again. I'm terrified that I'll never get to kiss you again, and that this is the last time I'll get to look at your beautiful face..." He trailed off and waited for her to say something.

"It sounds like lust..." she whispered, knowing it was a lie. It sounded like love, and she hated it.

Godric looked at her for several moments, then stood up, walking towards the door. He put his hand on the doorknob, then looked at her, saying softly, "then I guess this is goodbye, right?"

Hermione stared, mouth open. "Why would this be goodbye?" She asked softly.

"Because I'm leaving tomorrow evening," he said softly, "and I doubt that you'll be staying the night." He left the room without another glance at her, hardly daring to think in case tears threatened to flood from his eyes.

--

Hermione sat on his bed, her whole body frozen, her skin chilled and clammy with cold sweat. He was leaving; after all that talk of love, and wanting to stay forever, he was leaving her, returning home and not even looking back. Why had he said such things to her? She wondered if perhaps he had been searching for a reason to stay, and yet it seemed that his voice had been doused with regret ever since he entered the room. She didn't know how he planned to return, she had no idea why his mind had suddenly been changed, or why he no longer felt the need to stay behind and fight Voldemort with her. All she was certain of now, in this moment, was that he was leaving, and she might never tell him how she felt... but telling him would mean the timeline would stop, that everything she had argued and pressed had been pointless. If he stayed because she admitted her love for him, she couldn't forgive herself. Yet she knew she had to say goodbye, that she had to kiss him one last time... her body acted of its own accord, carrying her out of the room and down the flight of stairs, following the sound of his footsteps.

"Godric!" She called out, seeing his retreating back a little way down the corridor.

He turned to look at her, and seemed to sigh with annoyance and frustration. He stopped, tapping his foot impatiently as she drew level with him.

"Don't go yet," she whispered softly. "Please.. don't go."

"Why not?" He asked bitterly, "so that we can fuck around a little longer?"

"No," she whispered... "no... I just... I don't... I don't want you to leave." She reached out to touch his face, but he caught her hands and looked at her carefully, searchingly.

"Do you love me, Hermione?" He asked gently, eyes not leaving hers, watching the fear, sadness and confusion that welled up in her eyes as he said so. She didn't reply.

"Do you love me?" He repeated, stepping closer so that their lips were mere millimetres apart.

She pressed her lips to his, as if hoping it would create a distraction; anything to avoid that question.

"Answer me," he said quietly, eyes half-lidded as he looked at her. "Do you love me?"

She blinked, eyes wet, but shook her head. "No.." she whispered softly. "I don't."

Godric's eyes burned, and he pressed his lips fiercely to hers, seeking some kind of closure, some kind of promise from her mouth on his; he found none. She didn't kiss back, she merely froze in his arms, unable to move. Tears slid down his face as he pulled back to look at her and whispered quietly.

"I love you."

He dropped her hands and turned on his heel, walking down the corridor and listening to the empty echo of his feet on the marble floor. Nobody elses feet echoed along with his, and he felt, for the first time, temptation to truly leave, not just Hogwarts, but this time.

--

**In the next chapter I'm thinking these characters at Grimmauld Place:**

**-Lupin**

**-Tonks**

**-Sirius**

**-Molly **

**-Charlie**

**-Bill/Fleur**

**Let me know what you thought of this :)**

**Mage of the Heart**


	11. Siriusly Drinking

I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters

**I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters**

**--**

If there was a word more fitting than agony for the feelings that tore through his body in the next twenty-four hours, Godric could not think of it. He lay for what felt like endless hours, turning over repeatedly and restlessly, searching for a position that could compensate for the pain shooting through his very being. No matter how hard he tried, the force of her rejection weighed heavy on his heart, her words replaying themselves over and over in his head, creating a mantra, a chant of rejections and denials that caused his eyes to burn dry- he longed for the tears he had long since cried, for the warmth of her body curled into his...

The night crept by, the shadows and silence of his room imprisoning him. The moon rose and fell, the sun replacing it, painting the sky a beautiful array of colours that made his whole self crumble into anger, into loss and pain. He heard the students as they went about their daily business, heard the cheerful laughter that echoed up the staircase and instilled so much resentment in his chest that he hid his head under the pillow and let out unrestrained curse words, damning each and every happy teenager that walked about so unashamedly, unknowing of his pain.

The day crawled along, each hour or two punctuated by the regular cheeriness of the school day. As the sun was setting again, there came a knock on his door, which stupidly, childishly, he leapt to answer, willing it to be her, willing her to want one last kiss before he left, to tell him that she loved him, or even, he thought, to tell him that she didn't care if he loved her, but that she needed him... So it was with intense disappointment that he opened the door to Minerva McGonnagall, whose hair was tied up in a tight bun, her lips pursed and her skin tight.

Godric stared at her for several moments, mouth open. "I..." he frowned. "Sorry. I... forgot you were coming."

"Clearly," Minerva drawled. She gave him a quick once over and flicked her wand at him, straightening his clothes and hair and cleaning his face. "It is imperative that we leave as soon as possible. Molly will most definitely have my head if you are late for dinner. Gather your things." When Godric didn't move, she shooed him into the room. "Quickly boy, we don't have all day!"

It had been many years since Godric had been ordered around like a little boy; in recent times, he had been the one giving such orders, yet despite the stark contrast, he couldn't bring himself to stand up against her, and so quickly gathered the clothes that Hermione had given him on his arrival, and stowed his wand in his pocket, before looking expectantly at Minerva.

She was crouched over the fireplace, reaching a hand into a brown fabric bag, and holding whatever contents it was in her hand. "I am about to tell you the location of the Order of the Phoenix headquarters," she said quietly. "Afterwards, you will be one of many secret keepers, and you must swear never to divulge this information unless requested to do so by Dumbledore himself!"

Godric rolled his eyes. "Him again!"

"Do you understand me, Sir?" She asked him sharply.

He nodded. "Alright."

"Good. Then come here."

Godric walked over, wondering why on earth he had to swear anything. "Put your hand in this bag," she instructed, "and throw the powder into the fire. Step in, and speak the words 'Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place."

"Step into the fire?" He gasped, staring at her as though she were completely off her rocker.

"You are a wizard are you not?" Minerva questioned, beginning to seriously doubt if this could truly be Godric Gryffindor.

"Of course I am! But if I'm not speaking any charms, how do I stop myself getting burnt?"

"Floo powder." Minerva said, not elaborating but instead thrusting the bag at him. "Repeat after me; Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place."

Godric repeated it, shrugging. "So I jump into the flames and risk serious burns, say this name, and then what?"

"You'll go there. Now throw the powder into the fire!"

"But..."

"For goodness sake boy, we don't have all day!" She grasped his hand and forced him to throw the powder into the roaring flames. The reds and oranges turned emerald green, and Godric gasped.

"But..."

"Get Sirius or Remus to explain!" Minerva said, hastily pushing him towards the fire. "Get in and say the place you silly boy!"

Godric gingerly and carefully stepped into the fire and felt the warm flames licking at him, but not burning him. He grinned.

"Say the place!" She hissed.

"Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place..." he said slowly, raising an eyebrow in question at McGonnagall. He did not see whether she nodded or shook his head, for the next moment he was being compressed from all angles, zooming through darkness and hardly able to breathe, and then he was falling out of another fire, coughing and choking and falling forwards onto his face, only just managing to support his body on his hand to prevent breaking a nose.

It took him several moments before he could look around, and all he saw was a dark room, clouded with dust, sporting books on all sides of the wall. For a moment, he thought it had gone wrong, that he had somehow said something wrong and ended up in some ancient library, but then he heard voices, many voices, coming from outside the slightly ajar door.

"Is he here yet?" A womans voice asked. It was slightly high-pitched, almost worried, and most definitely middle-aged in Godric's opinion.

"He eez probably wiv Dumblydore still. He az anuzza fifteen minutes." It sounded foreign, that voice; foreign, female, and, quite frankly, beautiful.

"I'm sure he'll be here Molly, lets just put someone next to every fire, and then when he get's here, we'll know!" The next voice was calm, soft, male and spoke with reason and reassurance that neither woman seemed to posess.

"Remus is right." This was strong, gravelly yet powerful, and much more trustworthy. "And if he's not here in fifteen minutes," the voice continued, slightly louder over a little exclamation. "I'll owl Dumbledore right away."

There were some other voice, jumbled and incoherent, and then Godric heard footsteps outside, and saw several shadows in the doorway. "You know, we should really just have one fireplace on the Floo," the second man could be heard saying. "It would make life much easier..."

"Yes, much easier to worry Molly!" The first man answered, and both laughed, pushing the door open and looking in. Both of them froze in the door, then grinned at one another. "Found him!" They chorused. They entered, both coming over to pull Godric to his feet, laughing as they chattered.

"First time with the Floo, I guess," one said, though Godric could not see to tell which one.

"Of course it is, Einstein- they never HAD Floo a thousand years ago!" The two shared a chuckle, standing back as Godric stood on his own two feet, grinning at him.

"I'm Remus," one said, holding out a hand. Godric looked at him carefully; he had sandy hair, which looked slightly lank and dirty. His clothes were slightly tattered and he was particularly skinny, but his face was kind and easily likeable. Godric shook his hand, smiling shakily.

"Sirius," the other said, offering his hand in greeting also. "Nice trip?" Unable to suppress a grin, Godric nodded, shaking the mans hand and taking in his face. He was taller than Remus, with black hair and pale skin. His hair was slightly matted and in need of a trim, but his grey eyes were laughing; again, Godric thought, very likeable.

"Godric," he said, dropping Sirius' hand to look at the two of them. Both nodded slowly, looking at one another, and Godric had the instant impression, both that they knew each other well, and that they had heard alot about him.

"Yeah, we know." Sirius said, nodding towards the door. "Come on, better let you meet the rest of them. I warn you, you'll get the 'you're too thin' treatment from Molly, and 'ee eez so 'andsome!' from Fleur." He grinned.

Slightly nervous, Godric followed the two men out into the corridor and down a narrow hallway, towards another, slightly ajar, door. As they passed a moth eaten curtain, it burst open, scaring Godric to the point that he jumped into the wall and spun round to look at the ugly portrait now screaming in an equally ugly voice.

"FILTHY HALF-BREEDS!" It roared. Remus looked at Sirius, both suppressing a violent need to laugh, before pulling Godric along the corridor away from the angry painting. Godric looked around in time to see Sirius glaring at the painting, anger set in the lines of his face as he yelled back.

"Shut up Mother, you ugly old trout!" He yanked the curtains over it, joining them in the kitchen and shutting the door behind him with a smirk at Godric, who was now being greeted rather joyously by a plump, red-haired woman, who introduced herself as Molly. She hugged him in greeting, which caused Godric to smile uncomfortably and pat her absently on the back as she said, "you're too thin! Sit down, I'll put some soup on before dinner!"

Sirius grinned across at the newcomer as he was greeted by a man with long red hair, and a dragon fang dangling from one ear. "Nice to meet you, I'm Bill," he shook his hand, smiling warmly. "Don't worry, she still tells me I'm too thin after twenty-four years - you'd think if I was that thin she'd have managed to do something about it by now." He grinned at his mother, clapped Godric on the shoulder, and said. "I've got to be going. I'll see you soon though!" He walked over to the old wooden kitchen table that Godric had as yet failed to notice, and kissed a beautiful young woman on the forehead, before disappearing with a crack. Godric might have wondered how he had done so, except he was so enchanted by the woman before him that he could not do anything but stare in wonderment.

"Ten sickles says she says it," Sirius muttered out of the corner of his mouth to Remus.

"Done." Remus answered, smirking.

The woman approached Godric with a small smile on her soft, delicate face, and placed both hands on his shoulders as she kissed both cheeks, with a slightly over-the-top pronouncement of 'mwah' on each side. "Ee eez so 'andsome!" She exclaimed her eyes alight with warmth.

"Told you," Sirius muttered, holding out his hand. Remus shook it.

"Alright. I'll get you the money later."

Godric managed a slightly wobbly smile, before she introduced herself. "I am Fleur. Bill iz my 'uzband."

"You're... beautiful," Godric said giddily, grinning.

Sirius shrugged and nodded appreciatively. "More than I got out the first time," he said.

Remus looked at him with an eyebrow raised. "You got out a hell of lot more than that!"

Smirking, Sirius shrugged. "It'd been a while."

Both laughed, though Godric remained oblivious as Fleur patted his cheek. "I must leave Molly, eet eez so bizzy at work!" She too disappeared, leaving Godric looking gobsmacked.

Sirius was the first to laugh, clapping him on the back and shaking his head in amusement. "You get used to it after a while," he assured him, grinning. "You might want a shot of firewhiskey to calm your nerves though." He disappeared into a side door, and could be heard rummaging around for several minutes, before returning with a large bottle and several glasses stacked inside each other. "Here you go," he said, pouring him a generous glass and offering one to Remus, who declined, before pouring one for himself.

"So tell us Godric, how'd you wind up here with us? Some kind of strange spell gone wrong?"

Godric shrugged. "I suppose so. I don't actually know."

Sirius looked at him expectantly, but when nothing else was said he spoke again. "I assume Dumbledore explained the Order to you?"

"Vaguely," Godric replied. "He said that the Order is fighting Voldemort. That's about it, really."

Both Remus and Sirius frowned, sitting down at the table and inviting Godric to join them. He sat down and took the firewhiskey nervously, looking at the amber liquid with reservation, before throwing caution to the wind and tossing the whole glass down his throat. It burnt his throat and he gasped, clenching his eyes shut as they watered. Sirius chortled, pouring him another one.

"I like you," he said appreciatively. "There you go!" He downed his own drink, smacked his lips, and spoke. "The Order's a hidden organization that Dumbledore set up last time Voldemort was at large. It's made up of allsorts of people in wizardkind; Aurors, teachers, member of the ministry and so on. It's very secret. Everyone in it takes an oath of sorts, a pledge of loyalty, and helps find out information about Voldemorts reign. Kingsley Shacklebolt for example - don't worry, you'll meet him later - works at the Ministry, in the auror department. He can find out all the things that the newspapers and the ministry are keeping from the public and tell us. He's also useful in... telling little white lies about some of our members..." at this, a little mischeivous glint entered Sirius' eyes, and Godric wondered what he had done to need white lies telling for him. "We act as the main enforcers of hope for the public, but we have to be very careful - so many people are getting kidnapped and killed, very few want to have contact with anyone opposed to him. Voldemort's very clever; he scares those that might oppose him by threatening their families and friends, forcing them to fight for him or face torture and eventually death. It's our job to find those few people who have the guts to fight against him. The more people we have, the more hope we give to those who are terrified, and so the more people join us... it's not a fun game to be playing though. Most days we get wind of an attack on one of our members, and they're convinced to fight for him and not us; that's why we only have certain members who know the whereabouts of Headquarters you see; so only the people who are truly trusted are let in."

"So why am I here? None of you know me!"

Remus smiled reassuringly. "Dumbledore sent you; for us there is no higher power than Dumbledore himself. He runs this organization, he chooses who knows our whereabouts. If Dumbledore trusts you to join us here, then you are trusted throughout."

"That's very big of you," Godric muttered, downing another glass of Firewhiskey and gratefully accepting the next one from Sirius, "but why does he trust me?"

Molly bustled over, settling a bowl of soup before each of the three men, along with a sliced baguette. "Dumbledore is a very clever man too," she said, setting a spoon down beside Godrics bowl. "He knows good people from bad like I know good potatoes from bad. There are very few people that Albus Dumbledore couldn't give a very good recollection of their life to."

"How can he give one of mine then?" Godric queried, thanking her for the soup briefly before going on. "He wasn't there one thousand years ago! I doubt I did enough in my future to merit having books written about me!"

"What year do you come from?" Remus asked suddenly, blowing on his soup.

"What do you mean?"

"The year you left... which year was it?"

Godric frowned. "Nine sixty four." Remus looked at him gently, a slight frown on his face, before he stood up.

"Could you excuse me for a moment Molly?"

"Yes of course Remus," she said sweetly, eating her own soup slowly.

Sirius stood up. "I think I'll come with you..." he started, but was instantly interrupted by a loud explosion from Molly, which made Godric drop his spoon and swear loudly.

"You most definitely will not go with him!" Molly snapped. Sirius blinked, sitting slowly back down, with exaggerated movements.

"I do apologize," he said dryly. Godric picked up his spoon and continued with his soup, feeling uncomfortable. Clearly, the two of them were not on good terms.

--

Remus returned minutes later with a red, leather bound book, which he placed in front of Godric on an open page. "Here," he said softly. "I thought you might like to read this."

Godric looked at him in confusion. "Is this...?"

"Your life." Remus finished. "But do not turn that page. I daresay you shouldn't know anything of what is to happen in your future."

"Remus," Sirius warned, "I'm not sure this is such a good idea..."

"Relax Sirius." Remus said softly. "He won't read any further than what has already happened!"

"How'd you know that?" Sirius scoffed, downing another firewhiskey. "He might be in january of nine sixty four, and you're showing him June!"

"Hence showing him only up to nine sixty three," Remus informed him dryly. Sirius stared, then shrugged.

"On your head be it. But there's probably a reason Dumbledore never did this."

Godric drowned out their voices by reading the book placed before him, rather bewildered that his name was written so boldly and with such care. It seemed to hold importance and respect, and at that moment, there seemed to be nothing so lacking to him

_Godric Gryffindor was born on the 18th September, in the year 934, when such wizards as Loanislad and Tharoguay were still at large. His parents, Lancelot and Lianna Gryffindor, lived in the wizarding town then known as Round Close, which has since been renamed, Godric's Hollow, in respect of his great deeds performed for wizard kind._

_Gryffindor is most well known for having participated in the founding of our only Wizarding School in Britain; Hogwarts, along with Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. The four were good friends from birth, growing up together in the then openly wizarding countryside, and deciding at the tender ages of twenty, to found a school for young wizards and witches such as themselves. Each founder established a House, for which they gave their own surname, sorting students apart from one another by mark of merit, achievement and personality. Gryffindor is known to have valued loyalty, bravery and chivalry above all else, perhaps reflected by his achievements in later life. _

_In the year 961, Gryffindors younger sister married his then best friend, Salazar Slytherin, and was later pronounced to be with child. Only months after the birth of their child, Salazar killed his wife in cold-blood, and this is said to be the reason for the feud of Slytherin and Gryffindor. It was only a matter of days afterwards, that Slytherin was pronounced to have left the castle, and the other three founders never heard from him again._

"I don't wish to read anymore." Godric said, pushing it back towards Remus. "Where did this book come from? I thought the reason for our feud was unknown?"

Sirius raised a hand, and offered, "my library is full of rare and seldom read books. As you can see from the dust, this probably hasn't been read in a hundred years, and I doubt such a fact would have interested my ancestors."

Godric looked at the page before him and shook his head, sighing. "What achievements does it mean?" He asked, looking at Remus for an answer. He did not recieve one, and rolled his eyes. "Why can't I know what's meant to happen to me?" He snapped. "It's my timeline isn't it?"

"Why would you want to know?" Sirius asked, eyes suddenly not full of humour and mischief, but of pain and anguish. "So that you can await death with fear for any movement? So that you can avoid it? Your knowledge of your life could change the course of our lives. And it could easily ruin yours."

Godric assessed the man quickly, and determined that on some level, in some way, the man before him had suffered beyond imagination. "I want to know what I have that's worth going back for," he said softly. "I want to know why that could be so much better than here."

"You'll have freedom there, won't you?" Sirius asked bitterly. "Here, you're stuck inside all day with nobody to talk to. Doesn't that bother you?"

Godric stopped. In truth, since he and Hermione had become involved, he hadn't felt trapped inside the castle at all like he had done before; he had felt free, ready to explore everything... now, he thought, he was trapped without any kind of saviour or help. "I've never considered it," he said honestly, then looked at his soup, eating it slowly to avoid conversation. Remus and Molly both excused themselves, disappearing with loud cracks, and Sirius sat watching Godric with something like contempt in his eyes.

For several minutes, Godric said nothing, but then he met the other mans eyes squarely and spoke quietly. "What makes you so bitter?" He asked, eyes narrow. "Why are you so dead-set on convincing me of freedom? What happened to you?"

"What happened to me is none of your business," Sirius hissed angrily, standing up and gulping Firewhiskey straight from the bottle. "But believe me, in a few days, you'll get bitter about being stuck here, and you'll wish to be home again."

Godric snorted in mock laughter. "Wishing to be home is something that I can assure you will not happen to me."

"You have no idea." Sirius muttered.

"I've got a pretty good one, given that the night I got here was because I hated that place so much I threw myself off a tower!" He felt the words slip through his mouth and cursed himself for becoming so easily spoken after so few Firewhiskeys.

Sirius looked at Godric, for the first time, with kinship in his eyes. "That bad hey?"

Godric nodded solemnly. "Yes. That bad." He stood up. "Where will I be sleeping?"

--

He lay on the creaking bed, lying on is back and looking at the cieling, wondering if he would ever get to see Hermione again. He knew that it was in all likelihood that he would; after all, if he was staying to fight Voldemort, then surely she would be there too. Yet it seemed unlikely that she would come by the Order's headquarters at any time, and if that was the case, then he didn't know how long he would have to wait. He knew, deep down, that it was better for him not to see her, simply because if he saw her, all of his feelings for her would rush back and cause him the same depression as he was experiencing now, but somehow the idea of not seeing her and having those feelings dissipate into nothingness seemed worse than seeing her and having his heart break all over again... There was a knock at the door and he sat up slowly, answering it half-heartedly, only opening the door a little to see Sirius holding a large bottle of Firewhiskey.

"Thought you might like a drink," Sirius shrugged, holding the bottle out.

"So you give me the whole bottle?" Godric couldn't help but feel slightly apprehensive.

The other man shrugged again. "I usually find one leads to another, so the bottles just easier."

Smirking ever so slightly, Godric took it, nodding his thanks.

"Wanna talk?" Sirius muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets and scuffing the floor with the toe of his shoe.

Shrugging his shoulders, Godric opened the door. "Why not? I'll only end up talking after a couple anyway."

A rogue grin spread over Sirius' face, and he clapped the other man on the back, nodding his head in the direction of the stairs. "Theres a drawing room over there, more comfortable."

Godric followed him, looking at the bottle in his hands with interest. "There's quite a lot... are we going to drink all of this?"

Sirius looked back at him with a grin. "What's the matter? Trouble holding your liquor?"

Godric frowned. "Well.. yeah, actually."

Seeming to find this absolutely hilarious, Sirius threw his head back in laughter. "Trust me, a couple of nights here, and you'll be drinking with the big boys."

Godric's frown did not go amiss, but he entered the drawing room and sat down on one of the armchairs, watching as Sirius conjured two glasses from midair. "Right, give us the bottle," Sirius said, holding out his hand and making a beckoning gesture with three fingers. Godric handed it over, apprehensive as Sirius filled each rather large glass to the very brim, so that the moment he lifted it to give it to Godric, some of the amber liquid slopped on the table. "Ahh, nevermind," Sirius shrugged, "I'll clean it up later."

--

After many large glasses of Firewhiskey, which left their throats burning and dry, Godric and Sirius were sat giggling helplessly in their chairs, their words slurred and muddled.

"Minee's good shag," Godric managed, laughing deeply as he downed another glass. "Big...big..." his hands motioned at his chest area.

"Tits?" Sirius supplied, chortling. "You know," he said, sitting up and pointing a shaking finger at Godric as he attempted to keep his eyes open, "you, could be called, a pea...poe...pa... pro..." he frowned, then grinned, "pervert!"

"Mmmm..." Godric nodded, eyes closed. "I loves her, I does... love, love, love, love, love!" He grinned to himself happily, listening as Sirius went on a tirade of comments against love of all forms.

"Love," he said simply, "is a pile of wank!" Laughing at his own statement, Sirius went on. "Useless. Stinky. Pointless."

"USELESS!" Godric repeated, holding up a glass of Firewhiskey and toasting Sirius. "To useless piles of wank!"

"HEAR HEAR!" Sirius cried, slopping half of his drink down his front as he attempted to throw it down his throat.

"To sex!"

"To _meaningless_ sex!" Sirius emphasized, filling both of their glasses up immediately and taking a large gulp.

"To inebria...inebri... iney... inebriated sex!" Godric finally managed.

Sirius laughed aloud, clutching his side. "To whores!"

"To lesbians!"

"To kinkyness!"

"To... to..."

"To fucking paradise!" Sirius finished, closing his eyes and chuckling. "Aha... Minee's good ey?"

"Uhuh," Godric slurred, leaning back in the chair.

Laughing, Sirius muttered, "always thought she would be.."

--

The first thing Godric was aware of was the splitting pain in his head, sending nausea throughout his whole body. The next was the absolute dryness of his throat, so dry that it felt as though any speech at all would split his throat open. Then there was the feel of cold wooden floor beneath his cheek, compressing his face to the extent that when he sat up, it felt like his face might never return to its original look. The room spun around him and he grabbed the arm of the chair to stop the dizzying feeling that was making him feel giddy and sick. He managed to pull himself up onto the seat and placed his head in his hands with a groan, swearing right then that he would never drink Firewhiskey, or indeed any other alcoholic beverage, again.

It was as he sat there, contemplating how exactly he had ended up on the floor, and why he had drunk so much in the first place, that Molly burst into the room with a large platter in her hands, which she placed on the table and waved at him to sit up, while snapping at Sirius, who Godric had not realized was still there. "For goodness sake Sirius, wake up. I need you two to clean the pantry out today. Rats got in and ate goodness knows what and contaminated everything."

"Good morning to you too Molly," Sirius muttered, sitting up and ruffling his hair with a grin at Godric. "Hungover?"

"Hung. Drawn. Quartered." Godric groaned. "Never again."

Sirius let out a raucous laugh and said quite simply, "same time tonight," before piling one of the two plates on the tray high with pancakes, muffines and maple syrup. Godric glanced at the tray, feeling his stomach churn with hunger, but couldn't quite bring himself to eat anything, given that his throat tasted of bile and he was dizzyingly nauseated.

"How are you not ill?" Godric croaked, grabbing a glass of water and throwing it down his throat in an effort to stop it splitting open.

"I, my friend, am immune to hangovers," Sirius smirked. "Haven't had one in my life. Occasionally get a sore throat, but nothing a glass of water can't fix."

Shaking his head, Godric stood up, slightly unbalanced. "I think I'll go to bed."

"You most certainly will not!" Molly snapped. Godric blinked, both out of shock and the fact he couldn't see properly through his sleep-blurred eyes. "If you're staying here, you're working here. That's final!"

Sensing the smug grin on Sirius' face, Godric didn't even bother to turn around and look for help. "Is there any chance of a potion then?" He asked through gritted teeth.

Molly smiled sweetly. "I'll be sure to get it for you." Her tone changed suddenly, "now go and get yourselves changed."

--

Life at Grimmauld Place was dull and somewhat uninspiring. There was little to do but clean the seemingly never-ending house, and drink himself into unconsciousness everynight. He and Sirius bonded fast, usually over a bottle of firewhiskey or Oak-matured Mead, though on several occasions they managed sober conversations, a feat both of them found rather impressive, though extremely draining. Occasionally, Remus would join them in the evenings for a drink, though he usually called it a day once he had slurred a sentence. Godric was shocked to find that he and Sirius had a great deal in common, but still found it rather difficult to talk about his past. The topic that gained most discussion, on his part at least, was Hermione, which both men made a silent oath not to speak of in front of Molly, given that she was quite terrifying in a state, and Godric could not see her taking kindly to him having bedded a seventeen year old girl who, it transpired, had once dated her youngest son.

"You told her you loved her?" Sirius said one afternoon, as they lounged in their chairs in the drawing room. "And she said she didn't love you back?" He rolled his eyes. "Bloody women. One minute, they're begging for a guy to say they love them, so that they can be all happy-ever-after, yet when they finally get the chance, they knock us back in the face." He shook his head. "Bloody women."

"But we couldn't have a happy-ever-after." Godric said softly, looking at his glass and feeling his heart sink, as it always did, at that recognition.

"Why not?" Sirius asked with a shrug, apparently forgetting.

"Because I belong a thousand years in the past."

Sirius opened his mouth, then closed it, nodding slowly. "That could cause a problem I suppose..." he looked thoughtful for several moments, then said. "But you don't know how to get home. So surely you could be here for years and years and years. It could be a happy ending."

"Dumbledore knows how to get me home." Godric said softly. "But I decided to stay until Voldemort was gone."

"Why?"

Godric shrugged. "So I can stop searching for Salazar I suppose. If I know he'll meet his end someday, whether it be through me or someone else, I can live the rest of my life out in peace."

The grey-eyes man sighed. "So you're putting yourself through this heartache over Hermione willingly? You actually _chose _to stay here and go through it?"

"Yes."

Sirius stared at him, then shook his head. "You're bloody mental!"

Laughing, Godric nodded. "That is, unfortunately, most likely true."

They exchanged a grin, and Sirius held up his glass. "To stupidity!"

"Here we go again," Godric muttered, smirking.

--

After several weeks of cleaning, drinking and somehow recovering, several new faces appeared at Grimmauld Place, and Godric was introduced to Remus' wife, Nymphadora, and Charlie Weasley. On meeting the two, he had walked into the kitchen to see another head of flaming red hair, much alike to Bills, Molly's and Molly's husband, Arthurs, and let out a loud exclamation which he hoped they did not take offence to. "Another bloody red-head?" He gasped. "Did your parents do anything but copulate?" It was, of course, at this moment that Molly walked into the kitchen, with an icy glare sent in Godric's direction, which for some reason he had come to expect from her, perhaps because of the amount of time he spent in Sirius' company.

Charlie had laughed, standing up and extending a rough, calloused hand. "Charlie," he said, grinning before adding in an undertone. "If you think this is bad, there's still five more you haven't met."

Godric stared. "Seven?" He squeaked. "How the hell..?"

"Breakfast," Molly snapped.

Godric sat gingerly, looking at Sirius, who seemed to be stifling his laughter by shovelling forkful after forkful of food into his mouth. He shot him a glare, before reaching for the platter of bacon and sausage sandwiches before him.

Nymphadora, was sat at the opposite end of the table, and he didn't notice her at all until he had bitten into his sandwich. It was then that he frowned, and Remus introduced them.

"Godric, this is my wife, Nympha..." she hit him, and he seemed to correct himself, "this is my wife, _Tonks_." The emphasis on the final word, and the slightly nervous look Remus cast at his wife amused Godric, and he raised a hand in greeting. He wasn't really sure what to make of the woman really; she had bright pink hair that made him want to blink, and kept making ridiculous faces at him up the table, making her nose change shape in the most peculiar way.

"Metamorphmagus," she explained when Godric queried it. "Can change appearance at.."

"Yes, I know what a Metamorphmagus is," Godric muttered tiredly. "It was a question for politeness sake." He stood up and ran his fingers through his hair. "Thank you for breakfast Molly," He said, then left the room.

--

When he reached the small room in which he was supposed to sleep, though never seemed to, it was to find a large owl perched on the headboard of his bed. He frowned and walked over, unattaching the envelope from the owls leg with ease, and crinkling his eyebrows when the owl didn't move, but instead looked at him expectantly.

"Scat!" He said, flapping his hand. It didn't move. With a sigh, he opened the envelope, slitting it open with his finger, and pulled out the parchment within it, feeling somewhat worried.

_Godric,_

_I hope that your stay with the Order has been productive until now- I hear that you are settling in, perhaps a little too well. I write with the sole intention of notifying you to the fact that, in a few days, Hermione, Harry, and several of the Weasleys, will be arriving at Grimmauld Place for the holidays. If you decide, on these grounds, that you would like to spend the holiday at Hogwarts, please notify me as soon as possible, so that arrangements can be made for your transportation._

_Yours _

_A. Dumbledore_

Godric looked at the letter with a small amount of trepidation, and was just debating writing back, when Sirius appeared at the door, a concerned frown on his face.

"You got the letter then?" He said, looking slightly worried.

Godric nodded glumly.

"You going?"

"I suppose so.." Godrics answer held no emotion at all as he stared at the silver looping writing.

Sirius ground his jaw slightly, then said, "you know, you could just stay. Hermione can stay out of your way if that's what she wants. But what use would staying at Hogwarts for Christmas be? At least here there'll be people other than Dumbledore and McGonnagall to talk to.."

"But it's Hermione," Godric sighed. "I don't know if I can face her."

The crease of Sirius eyebrows became more pronounced. "It's been weeks. It's got to be less awkward by now, surely?"

"You know she thinks I went home, right?"

Sirius nodded.

Sighing, Godric looked at the owl. "Go away. If I make my mind up, I'll let him know." The owl hooted slightly, then took off out of the window.

"She's going to find out you're still here sooner or later..."

Shrugging, Godric replied. "Maybe... I just didn't really consider it..."

With a chuckle, Sirius stood up. "If she gives you trouble, we'll just retire to the drawing room for a good stiff one."

Godric snorted with laughter. "You're really not my type."

They both laughed, and Sirius answered. "You won't know until you try me." With a wink, he left the room, grinning.

Godric looked out of the window at the disappearing owl and sighed. Perhaps it was simply time to face her with the truth. Who knew, perhaps she would be so happy at his return that she threw herself into his arms and proclaimed her undying love for him. Well, he thought, he could dream.

--


	12. Christmas Conversation

I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters

**I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters**

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**Mmmm... Naughty naughty Godric... mmmmmmm**

**Enjoy ;**

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Until Godric had recieved the letter from Dumbledore, the days had crept by as though in slow motion, and yet as soon as he recieved it, the days ran by faster than he could keep track. One minute, it was wednesday, the next it was Saturday afternoon, and he was sat with Sirius in the kitchen, until they heard the opening of the front door, and the voices of several loud, happy teenagers. Sirius glanced at Godric concernedly, who had suddenly gone extremely pale and clenched his jaw. One laugh reached his ears, and Godric recognized it instantly as Hermione's, before reaching for the bottle of Firewhiskey.

Sirius swept it out of Godric's reach and shook his head. "Later," he said, "they're just kids. They don't need you getting pissed out of your skull."

Biting back a retort, Godric headed instead for the back door, which lead out onto an ugly and overgrown garden, just as he heard the voices coming closer, heading down the hall towards the kitchen. He kept his back turned from the window, not wanting to look in and see her face. He heard a jolly exclamation of "Sirius!" from Harry, but kept his head turned resolutely towards the garden. There were several minutes of greetings, before Molly emerged from the kitchen to speak to Godric.

"Come and say hello, dear!" She said happily, and he could tell instantly that she was happy to have her family with her - she never called him dear. He sighed and turned around, slouching after her. He could see over her shoulder, and Hermione was facing away from him, to yet another red-headed boy, who was laughing at something that Harry had just said. "Everyone, settle down now!" Molly said loudly. "This is Godric. Godric, this is Ron, Ginny, Harry and Hermione." Both Ron and Ginny smiled at him and raised a hand in greeting. Harry looked at him slightly coldly, but did not say anything; When Hermione turned to look at him, his whole world felt as thought it was collapsing.

The shock on her face was understandable - he would most probably have been shocked too had he thought she had gone back a thousand years, only to find her in the house he was staying at for Christmas - yet the horror, the anguish, the pain, seemed unfair, given that it was she and not him that had brought about their argument. She stared at him for several moments, looking almost on the brink of tears, before pushing past the others in the kitchen and fleeing up the stairs. Godric resisted calling after her, and looked instead at Molly, who seemed oblivious to the fact they knew each other at all.

"She must be tired, poor dear, it's a long trip you know!"

Godric nodded along glumly and looked at Sirius who was biting his lip and grimacing. "I think I'll use the bathroom," Godric said softly, gently moving past those in the kitchen and walking deliberately slowly up the stairs, before opening every door in an effort to find her. She was on the second floor, in a small room, quite similar to his, that had twin beds. He looked at her, supporting herself on the writing desk and staring blankly at a space on the wall, before walking inside and shutting the door. She jumped around at the sound of it's click, then looked at him blankly.

"Hermione..." Godric began, walking forwards and reaching out for her. She shook her head vigorously, and he dropped his hand.

"You told me you were going back!" She said angrily. "You told me it was goodbye!"

"I said I was leaving!" Godric corrected, "and I thought it would be goodbye! How was I to know you'd pop up here for Christmas?"

She rolled her eyes in exaggerated disbelief. "Oh, so I was supposed to know that when you said leaving you meant staying?"

"What? I said I was leaving! I didn't say where. You didn't ask. I simply said what I said, and you never questioned it!"

"I didn't know I had a reason to!" Her voice was full of anger, yet somewhere in their he could hear hurt, and as far as he was concerned, that meant she cared.

"Why are you so bothered I'm here anyway?" He said, sneering. "Scared you'll fall in love with me?"

"Don't be so ridiculous!" Hermione snapped back, flicking a tendril of hair out of her eyes.

Godric laughed. "I'm being ridiculous? You're the one acting like a child! So what if I'm here? What does it matter? You don't care for me, it's not like you've got feelings for me and staying in a house with me's going to make them difficult! You told me yourself you didn't love me!"

"I said I didn't love you, not that I didn't care!" She looked away from him as soon as she'd said it and wiped her streaming eyes.

He stared at her, taking in every inch of her being. "You care about me?" He asked finally, voice much softer than before.

She hesitated, then shook her head. "No, I don't."

"Why'd you say that then?" He whispered, moving closer to her and reaching out to cup her cheek in his hands.

"It was just... a spur of the moment thing." She looked away from his searching eyes, and Godric released a breathy sigh.

"You don't care about me?"

"No..." she said throatily.

"And you don't love me?"

"No..."

"You sure?"

She nodded. He pressed his lips forcibly to hers and waited for her to react; she pushed him away roughly. He smirked. "You know I still don't believe you, right?"

This time she met his eyes and spoke levelly. "Well you should." After a moments hesitation she said, "please just leave me be, Godric. I'm not interested."

He waited, then nodded slowly, dropping his hand and stepping backward. "Fine," he said softly. "But just so you know... I meant what I said before... and I've missed you... a great deal."

He walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him and exhaling deeply, just as he heard footsteps on the stairs. He turned to find Harry looking at him with anger. "Leave her alone," Harry warned. "She doesn't need you. Just do what you came to do and then leave."

Not even trying to correct him, Godric walked down the stairs, entering the kitchen to find the young, female Weasley looking at him with interest. She was better looking than the rest of the bunch; her hair was shiny, and hung straight down her back. She was slim, with rather large breasts in proportion to her body, and gentle curves on her calves. "Do you work out?" She asked, the second he entered. Her eyes scanned his body appreciatively and he couldn't contain a grin. If Hermione really cared nothing for him, he could flirt with her friend without a problem - as long as Molly didn't catch him at it.

"I suppose so... I do endurance activity... weights occasionally..." he grinned at Sirius whose face was red as he attempted to contain his laughter. "Do you work out, Red?" he took a seat next to her and smirked. She blushed pink, giggling, before shaking her head.

"Nope. I'm lazy. I let the guy do all the work..."

He managed a small smile, little more than a twitch at the corner of his mouth, before Molly burst in with Ron, and he was saved from replying, for a little while at least. He avoided Sirius' gaze, given that the other man was looking at him in disbelief, and looked at Molly as she began to speak. "Ginny, you'll be ok sharing with Hermione won't you?"

"Definitely," Ginny said sweetly.

"And try not to make things too awkward with Harry - you don't want to ruin everyones Christmas!"

A beaming smile was sent in her mothers direction, and Godric knew instantly that Ginny Weasley was a clever one. "I won't. I'm sure we can handle being just friends!" She waited until her Mother had turned away before adding, "we've been acting it for about a month."

Godric snorted in laughter, then covered it up with a cough at Molly's bemused look. "Sorry," he said simply. "Tickle in my throat."

"Hmmm," Molly eyed him carefully, then headed for the door, "Ron, could you please clean your face, it looks as though you've been rolling in a chicken pen!" The other Weasley traipsed out of the room after her, and Sirius glanced at Ginny and Sirius before saying, "do you want a cup of tea?"

"Love one," Ginny said instantly, smiling brightly at Godric.

"Me too," Godric said, not looking away from the red-head and smirking slightly.

Sirius scraped his chair along the floor as loud as possible, commenting on how loud the echo was in the kitchen, and then how miserable the day outside was. Ginny grinned, winking at Godric as she said in an undertone, "bet I could make the day better." This, however, was not quite as quiet as they had assumed, Godric realized, and Sirius jumped ing shock, spilling boiling water over his hand and swearing.

"Fuck! Shit! Argh, the little bastards..." He seemed to suck on his hand for several moments before pointing his wand at it. Godric could practically feel how cold it was, and shuddered at the thought.

Ginny stood up, smiling at Godric rather alluringly. "I'm off to the loo," she said, and somehow, it sounded sexy.

Godric winked. "See you there."

She laughed, trailing her hand over his shoulder as she walked by. The moment the door closed, Sirius rounded on him. "What is the matter with you?" He hissed. "You've just met her, and you're meant to be crazy about Hermione."

"I know," Godric said, shrugging. "But Hermione 'doesn't care' so I'm trying to prove that she does."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "You're digging a hole." Sirius said softly. "She's got six older brothers. You'll get killed."

Godric shrugged. "You can't tell me you'd say no if she was flirting with you?"

"This isn't about me!"

"Sure it's not, because she flirted with me not you, and someones getting jealous." He smirked smugly.

"She's my godsons ex-girlfriend." Sirius said darkly. "And she's 17. What happens if she falls for you, and Hermione gets jealous? What if you like her and Hermione? What are you going to do then?"

"I'm not going to fall in love with Ginny," Godric said confidently. "I love Hermione... it's just a matter of proving that she loves me back."

Sirius sighed. "Why don't you just accept that maybe she doesn't?"

"I will," Godric said, "if and when she doesn't act as though she cares that I flirt with Ginny."

With a groan, Sirius said, "why? Just leave it! If she likes you, she'll come to you. Don't drag Ginny in as well!"

Godric smirked. "I'll be careful."

--

It was most awkward for Godric, sitting across the table from Hermione over the next few days, not being able to touch her, flirt with her or even talk to her without getting cold-shouldered. The same seemed true of Harry and Ginny, who despite their best efforts to act comfortable around each other, had an uncomfortable tension coursing between them at all times. This, however, made it somehow easier to flirt with Ginny, but only when Molly was not in the room. Occasionally, one of her brothers would cast him a wary glare, but he mostly looked for the glances from Hermione, which were almost always occuring, but he couldn't decipher exactly what they meant. He would, of course, love to believe that they were of jealousy, but he was not going to confront her, he decided; if she wished to have him, she'd have to confront him, not the other way around.

"You look nice this morning," he said on the monday morning, smiling as Ginny sat down next to him. "Beauty sleep did it's job I see."

She smiled and patted his arm in a patronising manner. "Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for you."

He chuckled and leant to whisper in her ear. "I beg to differ, because _you_ didn't see my body this morning. It was more than satisfactory, I'll have you know."

She giggled and tucked into her breakfast without another word. Looking smug, and with a small smile to Hermione, Godric began to sip at his coffee. Hermione rolled her eyes at him and ate her own breakfast in silence. He was shocked, a few minutes later, when a soft hand slid over his thigh seductively. He choked, dropping his coffee cup and swearing as its contents spilled over the table. Ginny giggled, whilst Hermione looked at him in disgust, then waved her wand in annoyance, settling down to read the newspaper. He stared at her for several moments, then nodded his thanks, before placing his hand under the table and catching Ginny's with his. He looked at her warningly, gave a small shake of his head, and squeezed her hand gently, before leaving the room quickly. Sirius followed him, just as Godric expected, waiting until they were out of earshot of the kitchen before he spoke.

"Don't you think you've gone a little overboard with the whole Ginny thing? And what was that about back there, jacking you off under the table?"

"She was not jacking me off," Godric hissed back angrily. The door opened and Molly walked past, oblivious to them. After waiting until she had disappeared into the kitchen he went on. "She touched my leg, that's it! I'm not screwing her!"

"You realize she still likes Harry?"

"Of course I do," Godric snapped, "which makes this the most ideal situation. We both have other people to like, it's just a matter of making them realize it!"

Sirius looked at him for several moments, then shook his head. "What happened to Gryffindor loyalty?"

Godric flinched at that, but hid it well. "This isn't a matter of loyalty," he said softly.

"If you love her so much, leave her friend alone!" They stood in silence for a while after that, both glaring at the other. "Does Ginny know about Hermione and you?" Sirius asked finally.

"Not that I'm aware of." Godric's voice was stiff and full of resentment. Sirius nodded.

"Good. Leave it that way."

--

Sirius' words, Godric soon realized, were correct. In his need to make Hermione jealous, he'd forgotten all of the qualities he held in such high esteem; true, he was no longer with Hermione, yet the fact he still loved her meant that flirting with her friend was being disloyal to her, and his feelings for her. He sat looking at his hands, anger at his own idiocy coursing through his veins. How could he act so childishly? He found himself walking towards Sirius room, pushing the door open and sitting on his bed, looking at the other an and saying, quite simply, "how do I get her back?" His voice was laced with need, pleading for help, as though if Sirius were to refuse to help him, his whole world would crumble into dust.

Sirius surveyed the younger man carefully, then sighed, swinging his legs off the chair heavily and smirking with intent. "It's Christmas in two days, is it not?" He winked. "I think I've got a plan?"

--

Two days passed by, two days where Godric sat smugly in the corner of the living room, somewhat cold-shouldering Ginny's flirtatious glances and conversational attempts, looking instead at Hermione, who seemed, as a rule, to ignore his every look and comment, though sometimes, when his head was turned, he thought he could feel the burning of her eyes on the back of his head, and would detain turning back around just so he could enjoy the sensation, until eventually he was forced to turn round; sometimes, she was as serene as ever she was, apparently oblivious as she buried her face in a book; at other times, she looked flustered and red, and would instantly turn the page as though to convince him of her involvement in the book. He would smile at her for a moment, catch her looking up to meet his eyes on occasion, then smirk and leave the room with confidence. Then, he would sit in the privacy of another room, silently going over the plan that he and Sirius had worked out in his head.

Wednesday morning arrived, with the sound of excitement coursing through the whole house, doors slamming open and closed on the floors above him, feet pattering around and echoing through the air. Godric sighed as he sat up, ruffling his hair with a hand, before rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There was a knock on the door, and Godric managed a muffled 'come in', looking up to find Molly smiling at him with a tired smile.

"Will you be joining us for breakfast, dear?"

He nodded, smiling. "Of course." Walking over to the door he pressed a light kiss to Molly's cheek. "Merry Christmas, Molly."

She blushed, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. "Yes... you too... now... the showers free, if you hurry."

He grinned. "Thanks."

Used to the havoc in the mornings by now, he dashed across to the bathroom, towel in hand, only to run into a messy-haired Hermione, who looked tired and teary. With a concerned frown on his face, Godric reached out to touch her arm. "Hermione, are you ok?" His hand rubbed gently on her bare shoulder, but she pulled away, shaking her head violently. "Do you want to..?" He trailed off as she interrupted his words.

"No. I don't want to talk. I just want a shower."

Godric frowned, then stepped away from the door, worry coursing through him. "You first," he said, nodding towards the door. "I'll go later."

She looked at him in confusion, through eyes that glistened. "I..."

He smiled shakily. "I don't need a shower that badly."

She managed a slight quirk of the lips, though it did not reach her eyes, and he wondered how he could possibly make her feel better. It came to him in a sudden spark of inspiration as she flicked a stray piece of hair out of her teary eyes, letting it catch the light and shimmer with enticing brightness. Her eyes glittered and the light illuminated the tear tracks that lined her face, and as she walked forwards to open the door, he said, without real debate or thought, "you look beautiful." Only when her face turned to his did he really understand what he had said, then swore to himself, turning away from her and returning to his room in embarrassment.

--

She didn't look at him as they sat down for breakfast; she was resolutely absorbed in the newspaper, promptly ignoring almost everyones greetings of 'merry christmas', all except for those of Molly, who swept down on her in a large embrace and patted her head. Godric stifled a laugh at the red look on Hermione's face, and sat behind Sirius, who smirked at him and said in a soft undertone, "smooth moves this morning. Very sly. Absolutely inconspicuous."

Godric turned slightly red. "She was upset... I was just... trying to cheer her up."

"You might have done," Sirius yawned, covering his mouth with a hand briefly, "if you hadn't then walked off in shame."

Sighing, Godric sipped his coffee. "I think I'll stick to the plan for the rest of the day."

"Yeah, you better. I'm not going to have wasted all those hours drinking Firewhiskey for nothing."

With a smirk, he clapped Godric on the shoulder and headed for the sink, placing his dirty dishes in and turning to engage Bill in a conversation concerning the optimum tooth-brushing time for Goblins. He chanced a glance at Hermione, who was picking at her food absently, then stood up, excusing himself from the table and returning to his room.

--

Hermione averted her gaze as Godric joined them for dinner, and ploughed through a main course of roast turkey with heaps of potatoes, carrots, sausages, peas and other vegetables, in an attempt to appear busy and avoid any kind of interaction. Godric sat opposite her, apparently oblivious as he piled his plate so high she might wonder how he could see over the top of the mountain of food. As he ladled gravy on to his plate by the load, Sirius asked, from down the bottom of the table where he was sat next to Harry and Fleur, "Godric, is there anything you do differently at Christmas?"

"How do you mean?" Godric asked in reply, exactly as they had rehearsed.

Sirius smiled. "I mean, traditionally, do you do anything before you get up, or after you eat, or anything like that?"

Frowning, Godric said, "well... usually every man at the table has to kiss every woman before anyone can leave the table... but I assume that went out the window?"

Sirius nodded slowly. "Yeah... we don't do that... it's a shame really..." he glanced around the table, looking at Hermione who had paled considerably at Godric's words.

Godric smiled briefly. "It's probably something to do with sanctity of marriage or something these days.."

Molly suddenly spoke up, slightly tipsy from several glasses of wine, saying from the other end of the table. "Well if it would make you feel more at home, dear... it must be so difficult being so far away from your family and friends..." she smiled sweetly at him, her face slightly red. Godric positively beamed back at her.

"Why thank you Molly, you're right, it would make me feel more homely..." He glanced at Sirius, who winked conspiratorially, before spiking a roast potato on his fork.

Molly waved a hand airily. "Don't be silly dear... don't be.." she was interrupted by a hiccup, and Godric took the oppurtunity to meet Hermione's eyes, which bore into him with undecipherable emotions. He smiled, winked at her, and then proceeded to shovel his food into his mouth enthusiastically. She fiddled with her fork, drawing patterns in the gravy, apparently distracted.

"You know there was also another tradition back in my time..."

He was interrupted by Hermione's somewhat louder than normal voice. "Look it's snowing!"

The heads at the table turned around to peer out of the kitchen window, and indeed, there were white flakes falling thick and fast to the ground. Sirius and Harry made identical whooping noises, while Ginny and Tonks both jumped to their feet.

"Hang on!" Sirius said as they went to leave the table. "We have to follow a tradition before we go outside..." he smirked at Godric as he turned to Fleur with a smile on his face. "My dearest lady, you truly are beautiful!" And he pressed his lips softly to Fleurs. Bill laughed, before pushing the man away from his wife and stealing her lips. Godric grinned at Hermione before turning to Ginny and bending down to press his lips gently to the redheads, pulling back when her hand found his cheek. Smiling ever so slightly, he turned to Molly who had just recieved a rather worryingly fierce kiss from her husband, and kissed her too. Bizarrely, and quite horrifyingly, she seemed to kiss back with some vigour and he pulled back rather quickly. "Lovely, thank you Molly."

Fleur and Tonks were then kissed too, though most of the Weasley's opted out of the kissing, given that to do so would be to kiss their mother and sister. Hermione, too, attempted to do so, but given that she was not related to anyone there, the others would not allow it, and so much to his delight, Godric found himself looking down at her with questioning eyes and a slightly smug expression on his face. She looked back at him with as much venom as he had amusement, but he interrupted it by pressing his lips to hers, cupping her face with his hands and gently moving his lips over hers. He could feel her anticipation, her acceptance, building up from within her, until she was tentatively responding to his lips with the movement of her own.

A wolf-whistle from nearby alerted them to the rest of the room, and Godric pulled back, masking his intense disorientation with a seductive wink and a smirk at the others in the room. Hermione looked at him, slightly dumbfounded, before clearing her throat and picking up her glass to take a sip. Godric noted, somewhat amusedly, that Ginny and Harry were also locked mouth-to-mouth, and smile at he and Sirius' ingenious plan.

"Outside it is then?" Godric suggested.

"What about the food?" Ron asked, shocked. "It'll go cold."

"You're a wizard," Sirius pointed out, to which he added, prompted by Ron's questioning look, "heat it up!"

The group headed outside, Godric making sure to keep himself slightly distanced from Hermione, walking next to Sirius and muttering his thanks.

"No problem," Sirius chortled. "Looked like she enjoyed it."

Shaking his head in amusement, Godric replied, "maybe she did, but she'll never admit it!"

"And that," Sirius said softly, "is where you're wrong. I bet she'd admit it in a second to anyone else but you..." He smirked. "See you in the drawing room at ten?"

"You're on." Godric said, somewhat intrigued as Sirius sidled over to Hermione, putting an arm around her shoulder and saying something to her that he couldn't hear. Godric turned to Remus who was rolling his eyes at Godric as if he knew exactly what he and Sirius had schemed for over the last two days.

"I'd expect nothing less of him," Remus muttered, "but you... you surprise me. You're not quite the role model we've been told of for years."

Godric lowered his voice and replied, "I believe it's common practice to accentuate the good points of a person, and not the bad, am I correct?"

Remus smiled. "A thousand years has changed your character very much. I'm not so sure this would be considered Gryffindor behaviour."

Having become used to such comments, Godric shrugged it off. "Perhaps I'm not matured yet. Perhaps my future has things to define my character. Perhaps you'll never know for sure." He smirked. "I'm going to talk to that pretty brunette over there. See you later I suppose."

--

Hermione sighed as Sirius spoke to her, his words somehow sinking in as though for the first time, almost like she had not noticed before that her heart had quickened and her whole body had responded to that gentle kiss only minutes earlier, as though somehow she had neglected to see that she was still recovering, that her knees were shaky, and the only thing holding her up was the wooden fencing around the veranda, and Sirius' chest beneath her cheek.

"I think you liked it," he said nonchalantly, and she could practically feel his grin. "You kissed him back didn't you?"

"I've had a few glasses," Hermione shot back helplessly.

He chuckled. "Not as much as Molly..."

She sighed. "Sirius, I don't want to talk about Godric and I..."

"There _is _a Godric and you then?"

"You know there is!" Hermione replied, sighing.

Sirius shook his head, before realizing she could not see him, then said, "no, I mean, you still see the two of you as... a couple?"

"How did you get that from what I just said?" She asked, frowning up at him.

"Because you'd have said you didn't want to talk about what had happened if you didn't." He smirked. "I know more about girls than you do."

She laughed. "I doubt that. You probably know where the clitoris is, and that's all you think matters."

Sirius laughed, lowering his voice ever so slightly and saying, "that is all that matters Hermione. You know it. Godric knows it. I know it. Love's all well and good till you get to bed, but if you can't make the headboard shake you've got a helluva long ride ahead of you."

Hermione giggled, then shook her head. "Only a man could say that."

"Oh admit it! If Godric hadn't been good the first time you wouldn't have gone back for seconds!"

Shaking her head, Hermione tried to change the subject. "It's cold, I'm getting snow down my top."

"I'm sure if you asked nicely, Godric would fish it out for you..."

"Would you please stop making obscene..." she trailed off as Godric joined them, standing on her other side and pretending to look out at the garden, at the heavy falling snow and swirling of the flakes in the wind.

"You really do look incredible," he said in a soft voice, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. When she didn't say anything, he added, "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable a moment ago. I wanted to hold you again Hermione, is that such a crime?"

"You were manipulative and cruel." She snapped.

"You enjoyed every second of it." His retort was, she knew, completely true, but she would not bring herself to say it. He sighed afterwards, nudging her hand lightly with his as he went on. "I'm sorry. Not just for this. For letting you think I was leaving... for saying things that, in truth, I shouldn't have said. I know I shouldn't expect love from you... but it's a cruel world, and I can't help if I feel that way for you. I don't want to lose you because I love you... I mean, can you see the irony of that situation?"

Sirius chose this moment to step away, heading to talk to Remus and leaving the two of them alone. Hermione looked at her feet and whispered, "Godric, I don't want to fall in love with you."

He nodded. "I know that."

"It's not fair... you'll have to leave some time, and I can't... I won't be able to do it."

Godric looked at her properly, eyes soft and full of emotion. "You know you're not the only one who'd have someone to lose..." He rather daringly - at least in his own opinion- wrapped his little finger around hers. "I'm not going to find it any easier than you are. In fact, I daresay I'll find it harder. I'm the one who'll have to make that decision at the end of the day, I'm the one who'll have to do something to reverse the fact I'm here..." he turned so that he was facing her, his head close to hers as he spoke softly to her. "I've considered what I might have to do to leave you. It hurts, and I know it'll only hurt more, but when I'm with you I don't care about that. So I have to go back a thousand years in the end? I love you. And if I can go back, and say I honestly know what being in love is about, and that I had it for however long I'm here, thats worth more than anything to me. Just because I'm not sleeping with you Hermione, it doesn't mean the feelings are going away any time soon... I can't stop thinking about you... I go over all the things you've said to me in my head at night, and I can't stop falling in love with you! And us being apart's not going to make it easier! If I can't say goodbye to you, then I'm never going to be at peace with myself, whether here or in my own time."

"Godric, I don't want to fall for you any more than I already have! Can't you see that?" Her voice had risen slightly, and Sirius turned to look at them with warning in his eyes. Godric rolled his eyes and pulled her away from the others gently.

"I don't want to make you hurt Hermione," he said softly, squeezing her hand. "I just want to know why everything we have shouldn't be love. It's not a crime to fall for someone!"

"You don't understand," she whispered, swiping irritably at a snowflake that landed on her nose. "I'm already... I did... I do... I just..."

"Breathe," Godric whispered. "Just tell me what you want to say..."

She looked at him, eyes tearful. "I do love you," she said softly, voice breaking. "And I can't be with you because I know it's just going to end in pain."

He looked at her for several moments, not saying a word, feeling the full force of her words hit him like a curse. She loved him, and yet... in some ways the beautiful truth of those words was extinguished by the fact she didn't want to.

"It doesn't have to," he said softly, grasping her hands. "I can stay here. Or you could come back with me... we could be together Hermione, we could... I know we could make it work!"

She looked at him and shook her head. "We couldn't... it would ruin things, completely. I can't do it Godric... I'm sorry..." she went to pull her hand away from his, but he held it strongly, pulling her back and crashin his lips down on hers in plain view of everyone.

He felt their eyes on them. He heard the gasps of shock as they saw him envelop her against his chest. He could feel snowflakes freezing in her hair as he grasped her scalp with passion, could feel the chilling wind in his ears as he swept flurry after flurry of snowflakes all over the place. He felt the pounding of her heart, heard the moan that errupted from her throat, and then, interrupting that momentary bliss, he felt her hands shoving him away, their lips torn apart before she ran into the house, tears pouring down her face. His first reaction was to go after her, but as he went to run forward both Sirius and Remus grabbed him and pulled him away from the house.

"No," Sirius said quietly. "Don't."

"She loves me," Godric murmured. "I can't let her go. She loves me."

"Mate, maybe you should accept that she doesn't."

Godric shook his head, trying to push past them. "She told me she does. I need to talk to her. You don't understand..."

Remus put a hand on Godric's shoulder. "Even if she loves you Godric, she doesn't want to... and you can't have a relationship without want."

It was as though someone punched him in the stomach, forcing the air from his lungs. He stumbled backwards and leant on the fence for support, looking from Remus to Sirius. "It's over isn't it?" He said bitterly.

The other two exchanged glances, then nodded slowly. Godric nodded back, and turned around walking down the snow covered lawn shakily and sitting himself next to a tall tree, not noting the cold snow beneath him, or the chill of the wind as it stung his eyes and face. All he felt was the cold, unmistakeable rejection, one of such great intensity he could feel nothing else. It tore ragged, icy breath from his lungs, forced tears that froze on his skin from his eyes, and made the calls of the others seem like distant whisperings of the wind, drowned out by a hurricane of pain so great that he felt caught up in the centre, as though at any moment he might be thrown against a wall so hard he would turn into dust. And there it was, once more, the unmistakeable beckoning of the dark abyss of death.

--

**Heehee.**

**I liked writing this chapter. I liked the Ginny/Godric.**

**And Molly having a LITTTLE bit of a crush...**

**Review!!**

**Mage of the Heart**


	13. Not Yet A Spoon

I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters

**I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters**

**--**

Godric somehow managed to clamber up the tall staircase towards his room, legs heavy and head spinning from the massive consumption of Firewhiskey, courtesy, as always, of Sirius. He fumbled with the door handle, vision blurred and with the room swaying before him. It swung open, and with a rather bemused expression on his face, he walked through, feeling quietly proud that he somehow managed to find his way correctly and had reached the room falling over the record number of just three times. Yet something seemed slightly wrong with the room, and he could not quite decipher how his bed had duplicated and changed position... he was on the brink of querying that minor detail to thin air, when the familiar and somehow painful voice of Hermione sounded from the windowsill, where she sat with her head rested on her knees, which were tucked tightly to her chest, hair messy and eyes red.

"What do you want?" She said softly, and he could hear the threat of tears, tears on the brink of cascading from her eyes and flowing fast down her soft cheeks.

Godric tried to think up a reasonable excuse for appearing in her room, but none seemed plausible, and so instead, he frowned repeatedly, opening and closing his mouth several times, before losing his balance and falling sideways into the doorframe. Hermione sobbed and looked out the window, averting her gaze from him.

"Go away Godric."

"I sleep..." he pointed a swaying finger in the vague direction of the bed, then frowned. "I should sleep... here... rooms gone..." he shook his head and grinned ever so slightly. "Drunk again."

She didn't even spare him a glance as she jumped to her feet and stormed from the room. He vaguely caught the scent of her hair as she passed him, and he closed his eyes for the slightest of seconds, until he heard the stamping of feet on the stairs, and the strangled sobs that tore from her throat echoed through the dark house. Godric could only sigh, stumbling over to the nearest bed and falling onto it gratefully, inhaling the sweet smell that he'd come to associate with Hermione's neck, before passing out.

--

He knew there would be questions, even as he awoke with the familiar splitting pain in his head that told him he had exceeded his optimum alcohol consumption, and was dangerously dehydrated. He knew that the moment he stumbled from her room in the early hours of morning, someone would ask something, and he would have to explain that in his drunkenness he had somehow managed to mistake her room for his... he could not understand it, because his room was the floor below... and yet it seemed not to matter as his hand slid under the pillow and withdrew a purple silk nightgown that made his breath catch. He didn't recognize it, which was odd, as he thought he had see the best part of her wardrobe, but it did not phase him as he clung to the thin material as though it were a lifeline. His eyes closed as he tried to block out the intense longing that overcame him, only to be interrupted by the door opening. He looked round to see Hermione, whose expression was one of shock and horror, and Sirius, whose expression showed utter delighted amusement.

Hermione stared at him for several moments, then managed to hiss, a rather impressive feat, considering her usual gentle voice, "why are you holding Ginny's nightgown?"

Godric dropped it abruptly, embarrassed and horrified. Sirius snorted and attempted to cover it up with a cough when both Hermione and Godric glared at him.

"I thought it was yours.." Godric tried to argue, voice weak, face red.

"And that makes sniffing it alright does it?" She snapped at him, storming in and grabbing some clothes from the trunk at the base of the bed opposite.

"The bed smelt like you!" Godric reasoned. "I wasn't being a pervert or anything like that! I just wanted to be near you!"

"You're pathetic!" she retorted loudly. "It's not like you wouldn't know if it was mine or not!"

"I thought maybe you got new ones.." Godric replied sheepishly, looking down.

"Yes," Hermione said angrily, "because I'm simply going to buy new lingerie because you and I are over! Why? So I could 'get over you'? You're ridiculous!"

"I'm not being ridiculous," Godric said, standing up and attempting to straighten himself out. "I thought maybe you'd got some for Christmas or something!"

She stared, then turned, apparently defeated, and ran quickly from the room.

Godric groaned. Sirius roared with laughter. "That was the most poorly fabricated story I have ever heard!"

Not answering, Godric threw the offending garment down and headed to the other bed, throwing back the sheets and letting out a rasping breath at the familiar black lace garment in Hermione's bed, which he remembered particularly from mere weeks ago, when she had shown up in his room all of a sudden wearing this and nothing else.

"You might want to leave that well enough alone, it might be Molly's!" Sirius' joke earned him a glare, and Godric did not reply, instead he left the room, not bothering to throw the sheets back on his way.

--

She could feel his eyes on her, feel the familiar heat pooling in her stomach, as it did every time she looked at him, thought about him even... she tried desperately not to look, not to think... then he cleared his throat, and she was game, turning her head to meet his stare with equal longing and hurt, unsaid words of regret passing between them, but neither moved to rectify it. Hermione felt tears building again and shook her head, looking away and focusing on Molly, who was cooking rather half-heartedly at the hob, a result of her hangover from the night before.

"Godric dear, could you pass the tomatoes from the side?" Molly's voice stretched over the kitchen, and Hermione felt clouds descend on her, seeming to drench her in cold and misery. Godric didn't seem to hear, and Hermione looked round to find his eyes still fixated on her, lids slightly lowered so that it was not quite so obvious to Molly and Sirius, the only other two in the room.

"Godric, could you pass the tomatoes?" Molly repeated. He didn't move, or even seem to register her request. She slammed over to the other side of the kitchen, throwing Godric her most angry look and grabbing the bowl of tomatoes.

Sirius looked from Hermione to Sirius knowingly, then smirked and said quietly, "really, stop staring at him, he'll get the wrong idea," before standing up, heading from the room with a wave of goodbye. Hermione flushed briefly, then tore her gaze away, heading from the room quickly in an attempt to erase his warm look from her mind. Taking the stairs to her and Ginny's shared -though not since she was back with Harry- room, she locked the door and sank onto her bed, hugging her pillow to her in an attempt to relax.

--

Pass the tomatoes? He thought, staring at Hermione and succeeding in making Molly think he had not heard her request. Why the hell would he pass the tomatoes? So that he could stop looking at Hermione, perhaps, and then somehow manage to overcome the feeling in his stomach that reminded him distinctly of churning butter? No... he would stare at Hermione, and Molly be damned if she thought he would look even for a second at a bowl of red balls that had no aesthetic appeal when he could looked at something much more attractive.

She was looking back at him, and he was trying to read the look in her eyes, desperate to see some kind of familiarity, some similar feeling reflected in her brown eyes that shone from his too. He could see Sirius out of the corner of his eye, looking particularly smug as he looked from one to the other of them. Godric felt a violent urge to knock the other man to the ground, but resisted, reasoning only that to do so would be to look away from Hermione.

She really was beautiful, he thought, looking at her with renewed warmth and desire in his heart. Her eyes shone bright, though he knew not whether it were from tears or joy. Her hair was gently curled today, twisting and twirling at random, yet somehow perfectly complimenting one another... her skin seemed flawless, her lips were shimmering... he breathed a sigh of happiness as he remembered her lips pressed to his, then sighed as she stood up, following Sirius from the room, not looking back as Godric stared after her.

"Godric, could you watch the pot?" Molly asked gently. He sighed, looking around and nodding briefly before putting his head on his hand.

She knew how to make life difficult, didn't she?

--

Remus showed up an hour or two later, and Hermione was shocked at how suddenly Godric leapt to his feet, pulling the other, slightly bewildered man, from the room and closing the kitchen door as they entered the hallway. She was almost tempted to jump up and listen, when Molly suddenly sat down opposite her, a stern look in her eye that said this was not going to be a friendly conversation.

"Now Hermione, I realize that there is something of a... relationship..." her voice strained as she said it, apparently finding it rather difficult to emit noise from her throat, "but," she continued more strongly, "I see no reason for the two of you to act like teenagers who have had a row! You are both adults, and it is by no means fair for the rest of this house to have to put up with the... tension.. between the two of you."

Hermione had a feeling she knew what tension Mrs Weasley was referring to, and blushed. She supposed it must be rather obvious when they couldn't stop looking at each other that something was going on... though she had thought they were slightly more covert...

"Don't worry Mrs Weasley, we're avoiding each other to make it less difficult for everyone else... nothing's going on anymore though."

It was clear that Molly did not believe it. Her severe gaze made Hermione look at her hands and attempt to stop them shaking. "I see... in that case, could you help me peel the potatoes?"

Begrudgingly, Hermione reached for the potato peeler, knowing full well that this was one of those moments where magic would simply not be allowed.

--

"Please Remus!" Godric whined. "I can't go out and get it! You know I can't!"

"And I cannot simply waltz into that shop and purchase something so..." Remus grimaced, trying not to cringe, "personal!"

"But..."

"Godric, it isn't a question of not wanting to help you, but I think you must agree that..."

Godric struggled with the urge to hit him, but quickly decided on a better course of action. "Fine. Give me one of your hairs and I'll make some of that potion Sirius was on about... Poppyfoos, or whatever it was!"

"Polyjuice," Remus said helplessly, "and I won't permit you to use one of my hairs to walk into town! Aside from that, you couldn't find your way around!"

Smiling smugly, Godric said, "well in that case... I suppose you'll just have to go for me.." And he left the other man alone, smirking as Remus let out a groan of annoyance at his own foolishness.

--

"You been blackmailing Remus?" Sirius asked from the next floor as Godric trudged up the stairs. With a smirk, Godric glanced up.

"Of course not. I simply used cunning and intellect to get him to do what I wanted."

Sirius' eyes flashed warily, as though something in Godric's words was poison. "Right... sure... fancy a drink?"

The temptation was strong, Godric thought, but he'd rather be sober when Remus returned, given that the ball would be in his court as to whether or not Godric got his way. "No, thanks," he replied sadly. "I'm going to lie down." And so he did, heading into his own room this time and throwing himself down onto his bed heavily. He forced himself not to think, closing his eyes and attempting to forget the last few weeks and imagine that he were lying in bed, in his room at Hogwarts, Hermione lying beside him, head resting on his chest as she spoke to him quietly...

_They were by the lake again. She was naked, coming out of the water, apparently unphased by their surroundings, or the fact that it was still light and that anyone might glance out of an upper window... Her hair was wet, thrown over her shoulder carelessly. Water trickled down her chest and stomach, towards the apex of her thighs, which drew Godric's attention like nothing else. He sat up on his elbows, transfixed on her soft, supple skin, gently dusted with brown curls... he breathed raspily as she approached him, watching in awe as she settled herself astride him, stroking his hair lightly and affectionately before leaning forward to capture his lips, her breath blowing warmly on his face as she whispered, "I love you."_

_His heart pounding, he gathered her close, rolling her onto her back with an equally soft reply of 'I love you too'. The grass beneath them disappeared, and suddenly they were on a soft, red silk duvet, which dipped lightly on the bed as they moved as one. His hands slid down her body, lips falling to her neck and chest as he lifted her, sliding into her slowly and gently, her gasp of pleasure mixing with his own... He stilled for a few moments, then drove deep into her, pace increasing as she moaned and writhed beneath him. The bed groaned beneath them, one...two... three times it creaked, and suddenly it was faster than his own pace, and the world began to spin..._

Godric awoke to the harsh rapping on the door to his room. He hissed his displeasure, checking himself quickly to make sure he was not erect- thankfully, it seemed as though an unwelcome knock on the door had a somewhat deflating effect, and he traipsed over to the door half-heartedly, opening it just slightly to see who was on the other side.

Remus looked incredibly nervous and embarassed, and with a smirk, Godric let him in, not daring to say anything for fear of making fun and sending him away.

As soon as the door closed, Remus turned on him and began speaking hurriedly. "I never want to discuss this again! The trouble I went to to get this... it doesn't bare thinking about! I had to convince Tonk's that I wasn't having an affair when she realized it wasn't for her! And then before that there was the slight matter of having to enter a shop that was, to say the least, not my favourite scene! She better damned well like it because so help me I'm not going back there again and..." Godric took the small bag from Remus' hand and checked its contents with a smirk.

"It's perfect. Thank you." His sincerity seemed to calm Remus down, who nodded absently, waving his hand.

"Fine... I suppose it wasn't all bad... I mean... it wasn't exactly... well... they weren't really... it was quite..."

"Maybe you should go and join Sirius for a drink," Godric suggested gently, hiding an amused grin as the other man flushed and nodded.

"You know, I think I might do just that..."

--

He checked the landing briefly for others, then opened the now somewhat familiar door into Hermione's room, slipping quietly through and heading towards her bed, the small package in his hands as he went. He vaguely hoped that she would be there, asleep, so that he could stroke her hair away and perhaps kiss her forehead gently... The other part of him reasoned that this way, he was less likely to scare her to death and get throttled as she awoke in a state of shock and fear. Gently, Godric ran a hand over the indent of her pillow, sighing at the thought that her head had laid just there... he caught a hair in his fingers, his breath catching in his throat... he twined it around his finger, placing the package on her bedside table before withdrawing his wand. No thought went into it; he simply waved his wand, and the hair coiled around his left middle-finger, turning into a thin band of pure gold and glinting in the pale moonlight that came through the window. He smiled, pleased.

--

Hermione didn't stay up late; she couldn't with Godric sat opposite her, watching her over the rim of his glass, talking to Sirius easily but never averting his gaze... she shivered repeatedly, whenever she lifted her eyes, his would meet them, holding them firmly for several moments before he would knowingly sip his Firewhiskey, eyes dancing teasingly. More than once, her stomach twisted and her thighs burned, and she seriously considered throwing herself at him simply to settle her annoyance. Yet more than that carnal desire, there was the trickling warmth that spread down her spine at the sight of him; her heart pounded, her hands went sweaty, and all she wanted was to settle herself in the crook of his arm and listen to the pounding of his heart. She was certain he could tell what she was thinking, certain he was a Legilimens, who could tell exactly what thoughts ran through her mind at the sight of him; every memory, every kiss, every dream shot through her repeatedly, and she felt as though he read each and stored it, waiting to hold it against her when she next clashed with him, in another of their heated arguments in the corridors perhaps, or when she next had to avoid the question he seemed ready to poise every moment their eyes met, but never did because somehow, thankfully, Sirius, Remus or Molly would choose that moment to interrupt.

She went upstairs before ten o'clock, her footsteps echoing through the house, the din of the living room fading away as she neared her own bedroom and slid through the door, closing it and placing a silencing charm so that she might perhaps have some privacy and silence.

Busying herself with getting ready for bed, she washed her face, combed her hair and pulled her shirt and jeans from her body, sliding under the covers in bra and knickers, resting her head on the cold pillow, the moonlight throwing eerie shadows through the room. Only after several minutes of thought, and another few of tossing and turning, did she notice the small package wrapped in deep red paper, set carefully on the corner of her bedside table. She sat up, fear and excitement coursing through her. She wondered if she dared to open it; she didn't doubt who it was from, but doubted her own resolution to keep away if it was something she might like... it didn't look like her usual sort of gift, admittedly; it was not rectangular, thick and heavy, but square, and from what she could see, rather soft. She hesitantly reached for it, tentatively running an explorative hand over it. She frowned, feeling the soft edges, but then the oddly hard, thin and spindly length of something she couldn't begin to guess. Curiosity, it seemed, overcame sense, and in moments she was peeling back the tape that held the package together, carefully, as her mother had always taught her, but impatiently. When the tape was removed, she nervously unfolded the paper, to find a single square of parchment placed atop a deep red, silken nightgown, with lace hemming and straps. She picked the parchment up, frowning, and read it by the light of the moon.

_I always thought red was more your colour._

_x_

There was no name, but she had no doubt who it was from; she recognised the writing from letters that she had tried to ignore in the past, and then other letters and notes that had made her stomach dance during lunchtimes and while she scoured the corridors on her midnight rounds. She put the note aside, lifting the fragile garment gently into the air, gasping as she felt the wonderfully flowing material, the soft, delicate lace that was woven in intricate patterns of roses and creeping ivy. There was a loud thud as the garment unfolded, and something fell from the centre of the gown, hitting the floor and echoing around the room, reverberating in her ears. She swore, momentarily forgetting that she had placed a silencing charm, before gently placing the gown on the bed, falling to her knees and searching with her hands for the fallen object.

She groped for several seconds, her hand brushing through cobwebs, dust and discarded quills, before she found a hard, cold handle that felt much like the objects she'd felt through the packaging. She pulled herself to her feet, her frown deepening as she moved into the light and saw a sparkling silver spoon, through the handle of which was looped a piece of thread, which was punctured through another, folded, piece of parchment. Urgent for an explanation, she unfolded it hurriedly, her mind working desperately, trying to find a reason for giving her a spoon... as she read, her face split into a smile.

_Merry Christmas, my beautiful Sunrise._

_Here's hoping I've not become a spoon just yet. _

_All my love,_

_Yesterday, today and tomorrow,_

_Godric_

_x_

--

**:-)**

**Mage of the Heart**


	14. Yes, I Want You

I dont own any of the Harry Potter characters

**I dont own any of the Harry Potter characters**

**--**

She sat for several moments, a smile on her face that refused to go away, before she stood up, placing the spoon lightly on the soft material of her pillow, and stripping down to her knickers in mere moments, pulling the soft silk over her head and feeling it caress her skin lightly. She shivered, feeling almost as though it were Godric, his hands sliding over his skin so softly, with the same supple ease that had always made her feel so contented, so satisfied... she sighed, sliding under the sheets as she ran her hand lightly over the material, absently wishing it was him..

--

Godric felt a slight tingle on his side and immediately stood up, putting his glass down and claiming that he needed an early night. Sirius looked at him worriedly, while the others simply nodded vague goodnights and continued on with their conversations. With a feeling of anticipation growing in his stomach, tying itself into knots and churning his innards, he raced up the stairs towards his room, flicking his wand at the door, which was instantly locked and silenced. His legs shook as the slight tingle that had crept over his side slid over his chest, tracing lightly down his stomach, and back up again, a sensual feeling that made his eyes close in pleasure.

Had he known his plan would work this well, with so little resistance, he might well have locked himself in here as soon as Hermione had headed up the stairs, and yet he was delighted to be proved wrong, to have this small, silent confirmation that she was not, as she might have him believe, completely over him. He sat himself down on the bed, breathing harsh as the pleasant sensation increased in pressure, becoming a much more insistent and strong movement which drifted in circles down to his crotch, which was suddenly bare as some invisible force pushed the offending jeans and boxers from his body, sliding them to his ankles.

Godric might have smiled at his own genius, were it not for the fact that suddenly that prior, gradual increase of pressure suddenly intensified tenfold as it concentrated on the steadily growing hardness of his member. He hissed sharply, feeling the wonderful and yet horrifying urge to pull himself away, yet he knew he couldn't and was glad for it as what could have been a phantom finger began to trace up and down his length, trailing over his tip and sparking another reaction from him. There was a few moments of gentle finger strokes, then a repeated rubbing of circles into the sensitive tip. He let out a whimper of shock, hands grasping the sheets as it went on, pleasure creeping up on him, and yet for some reason, what would usually have resulted in a crashing climax that left him gasping for breath, was building up only to a frustration that seemed to duplicate with every brush against his skin. He'd never known a time when he could not orgasm, and this sudden experience was unwelcome. He damned himself to hell for being so stupid, to make a spell that timed his own pleasure to hers; if she couldn't come, then he'd probably die of frustration- how exactly did women manage this frustration with men of incompetence? At least for a man, orgasm was a guaruntee, a given; how did they handle that horrible, frustrating shake that would, sometimes, lead to an orgasm, but at others remained an annoyance, a mild irritation?

The pace of the strokes of his length increased, and he groaned, praying to the heavens that this time he would reach that pinnacle of pleasure, and be able to crash down onto his pillow, at least remotely sated.

--

Hermione groaned in annoyance, her hand working furiously, attempting to bring herself to an orgasm that proved elusive; she stroked her clit, she plunged her fingers within herself, and still it eluded her, leaving her feeling more incensed and angry than she could remember being in years. She could see Godric's face in her minds eye, his eyes closed, mouth open in pleasure as she rode him... and yet there was nothing, she couldn't reach it. She imagined Ron, Remus, even Harry, but they were even less successful than with Godric. She sobbed with annoyance, frustration and pent up desire, and wished more than anything to simply plod to Godric's room and throw herself at him... The idea made her wet, and even more aroused, and so she shoved it away, pleading with herself not to give in...

--

Godric's eyes rolled back into his head, and suddenly he sat bolt upright, pulling his jeans upright and holding them there, attempting to fight his own spell as he fumbled with the door handle and staggered through it, walking with a grimace towards Hermione's room, his head spinning, the pleasure and frustration still coursing through his veins, tingling sensations on his chest and crotch as he attempted to climb the stairs, agonisingly slowly as he tried to ignore the fact he felt as though there was a hand wrapped tightly around his member.

On reaching the door to her room, he stopped suddenly, looking at the wooden frame, the metal handle, and the dust that was gathered around it. He wondered vaguely how she would take it, whether she'd slap him in the face or jump on him and have him take her against the wall... he felt a twitch, the same frustration as he had been feeling for what felt like an age, and suddenly realized that whether she was angry or ecstatic, in that very moment, he couldn't care less.

His wand was pointed at the door in moments and the lock clicked out of place. The handle turned and he pushed the door open, looking at the woman sprawled out on the bed, her hand buried within herself and her eyes closed as she whimpered. Hermione didn't notice him, didn't realize that his eyes glittered with a lust so deep and feral they could have ignited forest fires with the blaze that burnt within their depths. His eyes raked down her near-naked body, and in that moment he thought he might explode.

"Stop touching yourself this second," he said, his voice gravelly and thick with desire, "or take me to your bed and let me show you what the fuck an orgasm is!"

It was hard to read her expression from across the room; it was dark, and so the only features of her face that he could really see were the bright eyes that glittered at him from within the room. Godric didn't wait to read it himself; he shut the door behind him, locking it with a shaking hand, then managed to half-stumble and half-walk over to the bed, bracing himself for an earth-quaking slap across his face as he bent over her, arms on either side of her face, his breath, heavy and harsh, falling on her flushed skin.

The pain and anger he was expecting didn't come. Instead, a hand snaked it's way around his neck, pulling his mouth down to hers in a feral kiss that unnerved him as much as it thrilled him.

A moment later, her other hand, formerly buried within her own body, was trailing sensuously over his lower back as it pushed up the hem of his shirt. He hissed his approval, his tongue pushing into her mouth in searching desperation, flicking it against hers and savouring the lovely moan that left her questing lips.

"Please..." she whimpered, "oh Merlin, Godric, please!"

"Shh," he murmured, his hand stroking her hair from her face as his lips eased gently over her jaw and towards her ear. "Stop begging, and answer me one, simple question."

She looked him in the eyes, her gaze hot on his. "Ok..."

He kissed her fiercely, plundering her mouth with his tongue while one hand trailed over her nightie, giving her breast a firm squeeze which elicited a loud gasp. "Do you love me?" he asked softly, pressing his erection into her and twisting her face to gaze into her eyes. "Tell me, in all honesty, if you love me."

She looked terrified, and he felt half guilty for bringing it up... and yet he needed to know, he needed closure on the question he thought he knew the answer to, and yet couldn't ever be sure until he heard it himself, heard those three words.

Hermione was moaning, writhing beneath him and attempting to pull him towards her. He held back, shaking his head. "Do you love me?" He repeated slowly.

She sobbed, looking away and nodding almost imperceptibly. His heart leapt. "Say it..." he whispered. "Please... just let me hear you say it..."

Looking at him, she stroked his forehead and cheek tenderly, caressing his skin lightly. "I love you, Godric.." tears slipped from beneath her eyelids, and he bent to kiss them away, swiping them with his tongue and whispering to her lovingly.

"You're beautiful... perfect... incredible..." his kisses fell with love on her skin, paying tribute to every moment he thought of her, every ounce of love and emotion he held locked away in his heart seemed to flow into her being from his, and he didn't attempt to stop it. The silk nightie and his own clothes wound up discarded on the bedroom floor as they embraced alternately fiercely and gently.

"Do you want me?" he whispered softly, positioned at her entrance.

"You only said one question.."

He grinned. "I lied." He kissed her softly. "Want me?"

She smiled. "Yes."

Godric gently rubbed her nose with his own, eyes half-lidded as he felt her breath on his face. "I... it's been a long time..."

Hermione's eyes looked sad, and she nodded slowly. "I know. I'm sorry."

"No," he shook his head, "don't be. I needed it... if only to see how much I really do love you..."

She kissed him softly, both hands cupping his face. "Then show me."

Godric grinned helplessly, teeth glinting in the vague light, his face crinkling into a smile that warmed the features of his face, to the point that Hermione thought her stomach might well melt into nothingness. "I will," he promised, lips seeking hers softly. For several moments, they held each other, kissing with no other motive than to feel the other. Then, eventually, he pulled back briefly, eyes questioning as he moved his hips ever so slightly, touching her with the tip of his manhood briefly, before raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Now?"

She nodded, smiling. "Now."

--

"That was heaven," she whispered, stroking a line down his chest with her hand, feeling his pectorals lift as his lungs heaved, heart pounded, and his breath tried to steady itself.

He smiled. "I don't think heaven will ever do that justice!"

Hermione kissed him, unable to erase the smile that played across her lips. She agreed, whole heartedly. Nothing could ever measure up to that feeling of need, love and desire, rolled into one crystallized block in her stomach, which had dissolved at the first thrust of his hips, and erased all reason from her mind. Her want to go slow and be gentle, to treasure every moment which they shared in this timeless embrace, was erased in seconds by a lust and need for release so strong that they had been grinding into one another so erratically and uncontrollably that it seemed almost laughable that they could even have considered going slow.

Godric nuzzled her neck gently, his lips caressing her pulse briefly before he spoke to her. "I missed you, Sunrise."

Her fingers ran through his hair as she nodded briefly. "I missed you too."

Lifting his head briefly, he met her eyes. "I feel like I should apologize..." he whispered. "For... well... for most things... things that happened between us were... unreasonable and... and I should have been more mature about it..."

She rolled her eyes. "You were more mature than me! Now shut up and spoon me!" The playful smile on her face made him want to turn her over and start their reunion all over again, but he resisted, rolling her lightly onto her side and pressing himself flush against her back, his arm around her waist, head resting lightly on her shoulder.

"I love you," he whispered in her ear, eyes closed as he inhaled her smell, kissing lightly along the lobe of her ear. His hand found hers, and she squeezed it gently, turning her head slightly.

"I love you too."

Godric smiled, closed his eyes, and was drifting off to sleep in moments, contentment spreading to his toes, warming him from the inside at the feel of her enfolded in his arms.

--

He wasn't there when she awoke, and it was hard not to feel a pinch of annoyance given their last exchanged words, and yet she tried, in a failed attempt at bravery, to disguise her depression, perhaps even heartbreak, as she pulled on a baggy t-shirt and jeans, sliding her feet into fluffy slippers, before heading down to the kitchen, sniffling sadly.

--

Godric was sat beside Sirius, a small grin affixed firmly in place as he flicked aimlessly through the newpaper, not noting or caring which words drifted between his ears as he reflected joyfully on the events of the past evening. He looked up whenever the door opened, and he felt disappointed everytime a red-head, or a mane of hair that was not Hermiones, appeared.

He'd wanted so desperately to stay with her, and part of him wondered why it was he hadn't. And yet, it seemed odd to expect anything of her after that night, because after all, her opinions were still as in place as ever; he was a thousand years her senior in the present day, and it was in all likelihood that he would leave one day and never return. He understood, and he tried to abide by her previous wishes when he left that morning, without even kissing her forehead. He sighed wistfully, just as the door opened, and Hermione entered wearing jeans and t-shirt which hung from her body and covered everything he had had the good fortune to see the previous evening.

Sirius didn't miss the fact that Godric was suddenly alert and upright as Hermione entered, and nor did he miss the look of hurt on her face as she looked at Godric so very uncharacteristically. He noticed, and yet he did not acknowledge it, deciding instead to pretend as though nothing was strange. In moments, however, he changed his mind, and retreated from the room before Hermione pierced his chest with her gaze.

Godric looked at her uneasily. "Are you ok?" He said tersely, immediately regretting it.

"OK? OK?" Hermione glared at him. "Oh I'm fine! Perfect in fact! Never better!"

Godric held up his hands mockingly. "No need to be so touchy about it!"

"TOUCHY? YOU THINK THIS IS TOUCHY! YOU FUCKING ARSEHOLE! YOU ABSOLUTE PRICK! YOU INCONSIDERATE, COWARDLY, LEECH! YOU.."

"I was just doing what I thought you wanted!" Godric retorted, standing up and supporting himself on the table, waving his arm for emphasis. "You've been telling me how you wanted out of it, how I was nothing and there was no point in me sticking around, and now.."

"Now what? You got your shag so that's it? All done now are you, finished? Came too soon so scarpered before the girl woke up is that it?"

Godric gritted his teeth, gripping the table with whitened knuckles. "As far as I recall, you weren't complaining about my performance last night!"

She glared at him angrily. "You can't just get up and leave Godric! How dare you enter my room and take what you came for, get me to say things I never wanted to say, and not stay long enough to even explain things!"

"I was simply trying to make things easier! After all the heartache you gave me before, I didn't think you'd really mind if I didn't stick around to make things awkward!"

"Not mind? How could you think I wouldn't mind? You evil, cowardly, horrible... grrr!"

"Hermione," Godric said bluntly, "if you want me, I'm yours. Just say so."

"I..." she appeared dumbstruck, and he rolled his eyes.

"Right. I'll see you later." As he went to leave however, her hand caught his arm.

"No!" She said squeakily, then blushed, looking down at the floor. Godric looked at her inquisitively, and when she didn't answer him, he tilted her head up to his, meeting her eyes deliberately before taking a further step towards her, his breath warm on her face as he spoke to her.

"Do you want me?" he whispered. Only this time, it was not a question in the heat of passion, nor a plea for command or dominance; it was a question of ownership, of exclusivity and of love. They both knew it, and it was clear from the look in her eyes she had no doubts as to her answer, and yet even so she hesitated, as though searching for an arguement, a reason to avoid answering. When none came, he cupped her face lightly in his and pressed his own lips to hers lightly, easing their mouths together before briefly sucking on her upper lip.

"Is that a yes?" He asked when he pulled away, listening intently to the slight hitch of her breath.

"Yes..."

--

**So I know this took ages...**

**explanation? Well, there is one I'll have you know!**

**I'm recovering from a broken wrist at the moment -no, it was not a result of any kind of 'action' as my boyfriend likes to suggest. I messed up a back handspring, and completely crumpled all of my weight onto my right hand, and so, this has taken a ridiculous amount of time to write, and I wouldn't be surprised if it was my worst chapter ever written. But really, typing with your left hand only when you're right handed is a real bummer!**

** But, there you go. They're sorted...**

**now, how do I split them up...?**

**:P**

**Reviews?**

**Mage of the Heart**


	15. All Yours

**I don't own the Harry Potter characters**

**I am also extremely apologetic for the length of time between updates. I really want to get back into this now!**

**---**

If there had ever been a moment in which time might stop, or in which time was so insignificant that it could go on forever without any care in the world, this was it; this moment of pure bliss, wrapped in his arms so fully, so warmly, that nothing else mattered. His smell twisted itself into her nostrils, manifesting into a beautifully malignant, overpowering scent that she thought might never be washed away. It mattered little to her that, at any moment, someone might walk into the kitchen and find the two of them embracing so passionately, arms tangled around one another so tight it would be difficult to disengage themselves.  
"I love you, you know.." Godric murmured briefly, eyes still fluttering as they paused for breath.  
Hermione smiled, her teeth shining brightly in the dimly lit room, eyes glinting as she whispered, "yeah, I know..." and then they were kissing again, gentle, tender, loving, and the pieces of the universe seemed to settle into place.

Fifteen minutes later, they were sat on two chairs, hands held as they exchanged tender words of endearment, heads touching lightly as the door swung open, and Remus entered, with Sirius close behind, looking as though they were nervously entering into a field of unexploded bombs. At the sight of the couple so calm, they seemed to untense, and raised questioning eyebrows at Godric as he looked briefly over his shoulder.  
"Yes?" Godric said, frowning.  
Sirius wiggled his eyebrows briefly, then slid surreptitiously into the chair opposite. "So..." he grinned. "Whats the goss here then?"  
Hermione blushed, giggling and looking down. Godric smirked, squeezing her hands and saying, "she could resist me no longer, and was thereby forced to admit her undying attraction." He winked at her, pulling her to his chest and feeling the joyous smile spread over his face, not caring that Remus and Sirius could see it.  
"Well," Sirius said, smirking wickedly, "maybe I'll just go see what the garden looks like today..." and he grabbed Remus and practically shoved him out of the door.  
Laughing, Godric pulled Hermione to her feet, holding her against his chest and inhaling the scent of her shampoo with utter delight. Sighing, he pressed his lips to her forehead. "You're smelling particularly delectable today," he whispered quietly.  
She smirked, "I smell of you, and maybe a little sweat, sex and perfume."  
"As I said," Godric grinned, "absolutely delectable."  
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Only you could be so arrogant about your own smell."  
"I beg to differ," he murmured. "Ask Sirius or Remus; the best possible smell for a woman, is that of her man. It's an unquestionable sign of.... of..." he trailed off, "well..."  
"What?" She asked softly.  
"I was going to say...ownership," he grimaced. "But I didn't mean that..."  
Hermione smiled, cupping his face with her hands. "It's ok," she whispered. "I like being yours... I've given up trying to deny it."  
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Don't let me get too proud of that fact, or I'm afraid I won't fit through the doors."  
She pressed her lips to his cheek and smiled. "You're adorable." She pulled his hand away and lead him from the room. "Come on, I fancy a cuddle and a bath.. at the same time."

And so they found themselves together again, ever conscious of the oncoming torture of seperation, by which they would find themselves torn apart once more. Ever present was the knowledge that in mere days, she would be returning to Hogwarts, and he, as a member of the Order, would be remaining at Grimmauld Place. And yet, more so than that, was the knowledge that some day, whether it be soon or some time long in the future, they would have to face the fact that he did not belong there with her, that he was not entitled to the everlasting presence of her company. Though he longed for a way to seal off forever the routes of his past, he knew that there was no possibility, no way by which he could ensure her companionship and love at his side for the span of his lifetime. He longed to be able to truly call her his, to hold her into the last hours of his life, when he would be happily wrinkled, with children and grandchildren running around his ankles by the dozen, with her still in the circle of his arms.  
Alone in the living room the night before her return to Hogwarts, he held her warmly against his chest and breathed gently in her ear. "It's terrifying to think you won't be here tomorrow," he told her briefly, squeezing her ever so slightly harder and closing his eyes as he listened to the sigh that she released.  
"You could always come back..."  
He chuckled, nuzzling his nose briefly against her cheek. "I don't think Professor Dumbledore would be particularly pleased to hear that I was returning simply so I could have the _pleasure,_" he put emphasis on the word, "of your company.." She smiled, reaching her hand up to caress his cheek briefly, eyes moving to look at him sidelong.  
"I'm sure a man of Dumbledore's years can appreciate the benefits of such company..."  
Godric grinned, pressing his lips lightly to her temple, lips still cracked in a smile. "I'm not sure Dumbledore would ever condone such behaviour with one of his students..."  
Hermione laughed, throwing her head back on his shoulder and closing her eyes in amusement. "Can you imagine that conversation?"  
"The 'you're sleeping with my student' conversation?" Godric murmured softly.  
"Mmmhmm..." She smiled. "And what if he dragged me into the room as well and asked me to explain myself?"  
"Well I suppose I'd just have to fill your mouth with something more practical than slathering rubbish about how wonderful I am, and perhaps give you something else to think about..."  
She smiled. "Fill my mouth... with what I wonder?"  
Godric chuckled throatily beside her ear, blowing gently and seductively as he whispered, "I think you know perfectly well what... theres only one thing that stops you burying your nose in a book, and I intend to ween you off your diet of research and duelling, and replace it instead with hard, hot, sweaty, sex."  
She shivered, shifting backwards to press herself more firmly against his body. "You're naughty," she reprimanded, though the gyration of her hips contradicted the tone as she teased him in such a tantalising manner.  
"Revoltingly so," he said agreeably, slipping a hand round her waist and sliding it gently up her inner thigh, "it probably merits a hard spank... what do you think?"  
She laughed, twisting around and pressing her breasts against his chest whilst her mouth captured his softly. "I don't know about spanking, but you've definitely got me in the mood..." He smiled against her mouth, catching her lip gently between his teeth and sighing his agreement.  
"Yeah... I agree that spanking would be a very disagreeable last night before you wander off to live with hormonal teenagers for months on end..."  
She smirked. "True... if you spanked me I might just stumble into Snape's office and ask for a pity-fuck..."  
His hands jerked her hips against his, eyes flashing possessively. "He touches you and he dies. Understand?"  
Smiling, Hermione pressed her lips to his cheek. "Oh, I hear you..." Her hands drifted to his belt buckle, a smirk on her lips as she murmured to him. "Hows about we try something a bit different tonight..." she whispered suggestively.  
He raised an eyebrow inquisitively, "tell me more... I'm intrigued."  
"Well..." she said in a quiet undertone, running a hand "I was thinking that maybe we could get some ice cream and I could lick it from your..."  
"Or we could just enjoy a quiet drink?" Sirius' voice sounded from the doorway, and when the couple turned to look, they saw a look of cringing embarassment on his face.  
Hermione flushed beet red, but Godric smirked. "Sounds good to me," he grinned, pulling Hermione back to him and laughing as Sirius seated himself gingerly on the chair opposite. "We can wait for ice cream until everyones in bed... I'm quite looking forward to waking Molly up with Hermione's screams... it could be a memorable experience."  
Having earnt himself a hard slap on the arm, Godric reached forward to accept a glass of Firewhiskey from Sirius, offering it with a grin to Hermione, who cringed visibly at the smell. "Go on, try some?" His eyes were pleading and she frowned at him.  
"What possible good would that do?" She asked, her eyebrow raised as though daring him to contradict her own opinion.  
Godric pressed a soft kiss to her jawline, "you won't have to look back and regret a missed oppurtunity..."  
"I won't..."  
"But nor will you get to experience deliriously drunken sex..." He smirked as she shifted almost imperceptibly closer.  
"I'm not sure I want to..."  
"Seriously guys, I'm still here!" Sirius threw down a shot and poured himself another one, looking visibly worried. Godric looked at Hermione with a smirk. "Go on, one drink?"  
She sighed, taking his glass from his hands and taking a tentative sip. Both Sirius and Godric looked at her incredulously.  
"What?" She asked, licking her lips as she pondered the taste.  
"You have to down it, Hermione," Sirius said, conjuring up a third glass and passing her a generous amount of the amber liquor. "Just throw it down the hatch and swallow," he grinned roguishly at Godric, who looked rightfully ashamed. Thankfully, Hermione seemed too concentrated on her drink to notice anything, and the fact that Godric and Sirius had had numerous conversations about Hermione's sexuality lay dormant. As she threw the drink nervously down her throat, Sirius and Godric both waited for the inevitable... and almost immediately she gasped, choking and spluttering as the liquid burnt the back of her throat. Roaring with laughter, they poured another round, and settled down to another night of rowdiness.

"Ya know, I had sex with a fugly gal once," Sirius slurred drunkenly, grinning at the memory. "Piss ugly in fact... good shag... but piss ugly..."  
Godric laughed into Hermione's shoulder, "sounds 'bout right..."  
Sirius guffawed loudly, whilst Hermione turned round, redfaced and messy-haired, saying huffily, "what exactly are you insinuating Mr Gryffindor?"  
He mussed her hair playfully, a chuckle emanating from deep in his throat. "I'm horny... mmm."  
She blushed deeply. "Naughty!"  
"Sexy."  
"Sick!" Sirius interrupted, faking retching noises and shaking his head in disgust. "No, no, no, no!"  
Hermione let out a loud cackle, at which both Sirius and Godric looked horrified, and she flushed red once more.

"I'm scared." Godric muttered, shoving her away from him jokingly. Unfortunately for her, having so little experience with liquor meant that she was dreadfully unbalanced and toppled to the floor with as much grace as a tree trunk.

Sirius chortled in amusement, grabbing himself another drink and throwing it down his throat as he continued to chuckle at the flailing witch on the floor. "And to think you share a bed with her..." he giggled, slightly red faced as he pointed an accusatory finger at Godric "now, don't go taking advantage of my little Mione, just cus she's in a drunken state don't mean she wants a shag!"

Hermione rested her head on Godric's lap with a groan. "I hit my head," she said, apparently not hearing Sirius' last statement.

Godric patted her head absently, and looked at Sirius with a satisfied smirk. "There won't be any taking advantage on my part... she's... mmm..." he grinning lasciviously, "she takes advantage of me... mostly...mmm."

"Don't." She muttered, though her voice was slightly muffled as she began kissing her way slowly up Godric's thigh. Sirius saw and lifted an eyebrow at the couple.

"Do you two mind awfully? I'm enjoying myself here! Don't ruin it!"

"Not." Hermione said, grinning cheekily up at Godric. "Just giving fun things to watch."  
Sirius groaned. "No no no. I want to have sex."

Godric had his head rested on the cushion and chuckled, "mmm, unfortunately I'm the one getting blown today..."

"He could join in," Hermione giggled, reaching Godric's fly with rather fumbling fingers.

Sirius leapt from the sofa, tripping over the coffee table and spilling the remaining firewhiskey. "I'm not touching his wotsit!" He said, looking rather revolted and raising a very shaky finger.

"No, he's not touching my wotsit," Godric said, stroking Hermione's hair gently, but not bothering to move.

"He doesn't have to!" Hermione giggled.

"I don't want to see it!" Sirius said, covering his eyes as Hermione's hands pushed the fabric of Godric's jeans aside. "Night!" And he stumbled drunkenly from the room, and could be heard shuddering from the other end of the corridor.

Hermione laughed as she went down on Godric, who decidedly didn't bother to see if his friend was ok.

-----

"Do you really want a threesome with Sirius?" Godric muttered into her neck as they lay in bed later that night, when both of them had sobered up rather remarkably.

Hermione shrugged. "It might make things awkward, don't you think?"

"That would depend," Godric said, and Hermione was both shocked and slightly worried as he seemed to consider the idea thoroughly.

"Depend on what, Godric?" She muttered, pressing her lips to his neck in an attempt to calm herself.

"Depend on who got the front seat," he replied, holding her tight to his chest, tickling the back of her neck and grinning widely against her skin. "Would you like it?"

Hermione shifted slightly, her centre rubbing ever so slightly against Godrics member. He blinked, eyes wide. "Do I take that as a yes?"

"It might be... interesting." He pulled back and looked at his lover thoughtfully, but before he could say anything, she questioned him, shockingly levelly given the circumstances, "do you like men, Godric?"

He smirked and pressed gentle lips to her temple, "that, Sunrise, is a somewhat personal question, don't you think?"

"I think it's a fair one given the proposition." She raised an inquisitive eyebrow, at which he sighed.

"I have no experience as to 'liking men' as you put it, but if it was something you were particularly... interested in... I might consider it..."

Hermione looked at him quizzically. "Are you pulling my leg?"

"No, Sunrise, I'm not pulling your leg, though if you want me to bend it, I'll try and accomodate you in the most fitting manner I can." He looked at her softly. "Do you like the idea of me and Sirius at the same time?" His breath was hot on hers, and she shivered, as he went on, "do you want to know what it's like to have me fucking you senseless while someone else comes all over your back? Would you like seeing me angry when he put his hands on you? Are you particularly into giving pain to others, witch?" Hermione was shaking her head, but still he continued on. "Would you particularly like it when he and I started to kiss, leaving you out while he does to me what I know you love doing? Or does the idea of watching him suck me off give you a strange kick?"

"No... I'd rather I was just yours... and vice versa." She kissed him heatedly.

Godric breathed softly, "thank fuck for that. If you had decided to say yes to a threesome, I might have had to hex his balls off."

Hermione giggled. "That won't be neccessary, I assure you."

He snaked an arm round her waist. "Mine," he whispered into her ear, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive spot behind her ear.

"Yes... all yours."

----

**Muaha, I found the last bit so entertaining to write.**

**Mage of the Heart**


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